liignNoon 


(AcM  ^ 


N-      .  -■ 


University  of  California  •  Berkeley 

Gift  of 
THE  HEARST  CORPORATION 


/  ^   ii^fi^JuXf^lU^     LHrtfi 


^uUi    UfuyQ    •  > 


HIGH  NOON 


A  NEW  SEQUEL  TO 
THREE   WEEKS" 


ANONYMOUS 


NEW  YORK 

THE  MACAULAY  COMPANY 

1912 


Hearst  Memorial  library 

Drawer  Mo hwtfwy  No.  JZff  ^^ 

"NOT  XD  Bl  R6MOVEO  f*OM  ilSVW  V  >  ^ 

WITHOUT  f*OPM  AWHO*»T¥."  '  *■  ' 


nomn  a*  nu*st  corf. 


Copyright,  1911,  by 
Thk  Macatjlay  Company 


THE  SCHILLING  PRESS 
NEW  YORK 


FOREWORD 

I  must  make  a  confession. 

It  will  not  be  needed  by  the  many 
thousands  who  have  lived  with  me  the 
wonderful  sunrise  of  Paul's  love,  and  the 
sad  gray  morning  of  his  bereavement. 
To  these  friends  who^  with  Paul,  loved 
and  mourned  his  beautiful  Queen  and 
their  dear  son,  the  calm  peace  and  seren- 
ity of  the  high  noon  of  Paul's  life  will 
seem  but  well-deserved  happiness. 

It  is  to  the  others  I  speak. 

In  life  it  is  rarely  given  us  to  learn  the 
end  as  well  as  the  beginning.  To  tell  the 
whole  story  is  only  an  author's  privilege. 

Of  the  events  which  made  Paul's  love- 
idyl  possible,  but  a  mere  hint  has  been 
given.     If  at  some  future  time  it  seems 


HIGH    NOON 

best,  I  may  tell  you  more  of  them.  As 
far  as  Paul  himself  is  concerned,  you 
have  had  but  the  first  two  chapters  of  his 
story.  Here  is  the  third  of  the  trilogy, 
his  high  noon.  And  with  the  sun  once 
more  breaking  through  the  clouds  in 
Paul's  heart2  we  will  leave  him. 

You  need  not  read  any  more  of  this 
book  than  you  wish,  since  I  claim  the 
privilege  of  not  writing  any  more  than  I 
choose.  But  if  you  do  read  it  through, 
you  will  feel  with  me  that  the  great  law 
of  compensation  is  once  more  justified. 
As  sorrow  is  the  fruit  of  our  mistakes,  so 
everlasting  peace  should  be  the  reward 
of  our  heart's  best  endeavor. 

Sadness  is  past;  joy  comes  with  High 
Noon. 

"The  Queen  is  dead.  Long  live  the 
Queen !" 

The  Author. 


HIGH     NOON 


CHAPTER  I 

IT  was  Springtime  in  Switzerland! 
Once  more  the  snow-capped  moun- 
tains mirrored  their  proud  heads  in 
sapphire  lakes;  and  on  the  beeches  by  the 
banks  of  Lake  Lucerne  green  buds  were 
bursting  into  leaves.  Everywhere  were 
bright  signs  of  the  earth's  awakening. 
Springtime  in  Switzerland!  And  that, 
you  know — you  young  hearts  to  whom 
the  gods  are  kind — is  only  another  way 
of  saying  Paradise! 

Towards  Paradise,  then,  thundered  the 
afternoon  express  from  Paris,  bearing  the 
advance  guard  of  the  summer  seekers 
after  happiness.  But  if  the  cumbrous 
coaches  carried  swiftly  onward  some  gay 
hearts,  some  young  lovers  to  never-to-be- 


HIGH  NOON 

forgotten  scenes,  one  there  was  among 
the  throng  to  whom  the  world  was  gray 
— an  English  gentleman  this,  who  gazed 
indifferently  upon  the  bright  vistas  flit- 
ting past  his  window.  The  London 
Times  reposed  unopened  by  his  side; 
Punch,  Le  Figaro,  Jugend  had  pleased 
him  not  and  tumbled  to  the  floor  unno- 
ticed. 

There  seemed  scant  reason  for  such 
deep  abstraction  in  one  who  bore  the  out- 
ward signs  of  so  vigorous  a  manhood. 
Tall,  well-formed,  muscular  as  his  fault- 
less clothes  half  revealed,  half  hid,  his 
bronzed  face  bearing  the  clear  eyes  and 
steady  lips  of  a  man  much  out  of  doors, 
this  thoughtful  Englishman  was  indeed  a 
man  to  catch  and  hold  attention.  No  cal- 
low youth,  was  he,  but  in  the  prime  of 
life — strong,  clean,  distinguished  in  ap- 
pearance, with  hair  slightly  silvered  at 


10 


HIGH  NOON 

the  temples ;  a  man  who  had  lived  fully, 
women  would  have  said,  but  who  was 
now  a  bit  weary  of  the  world. 

Small  wonder  that  the  smart  American 
girl  sitting  opposite  in  the  compartment 
stared  at  him  with  frank  interest,  or  an 
elegantly  gowrned  Parisienne  demi-mon- 
daine  (travelling  incognito  as  the  Com- 
tesse  de  Boistelle)  eyed  him  tentatively 
through  her  lorgnette. 

So  Sir  Paul  Verdayne  sat  that  after- 
noon in  a  compartment  of  the  through 
express,  all  unconscious  of  the  scrutiny 
of  his  fellow  travellers;  his  heart  filled 
with  the  dogged  determination  to  face 
the  future  and  make  the  best  of  it  like  a 
true  Englishman;  somewhat  saddened — 
yes — but  still  unbroken  in  spirit  by  the 
sorrows  that  had  been  his. 

Many  years  ago  it  was,  since  he  had 
vowed    to    revisit    the    Springplace    of 


ii 


HIGH  NOON 

his  youth,  Lucerne,  a  spot  so  replete  with 
tender  memories,  and  each  succeeding 
year  had  found  him  making  anew  his  pil- 
grimage, though  a  sombre  warp  of  sor- 
row was  now  interwoven  in  the  golden 
woof  of  his  young  happiness. 

This  year  he  had  decided  should  be  the 
last.  Not  that  his  devotion  to  his  beloved 
Queen  had  lessened — far  from  that— 
but  the  latent  spirit  of  action,  so  innate  to 
true  British  blood  was  slowly  reasserting 
itself.  For  Paul  romance  might  still  re- 
main, but  as  a  thing  now  past.  He  was 
frank  with  himself  in  this  respect,  and  he 
would  be  frank  with  Isabella  Waring  too. 

One  more  visit  he  would  pay  to  the 
scenes  of  his  love-idyl,  to  the  place  where 
his  beloved  Imperatorskoye  had  come 
into  his  life,  there  to  commune  again 
with  her  in  spirit,  there  to  feel  her  regal 
presence,  to  seek  from  her  that  final  su- 


12 


HIGH   NOON 

preme  consolation  which  his  wounded 
heart  craved — this  was  Paul's  quest.  And 
then  he  would  return  to  England — and 
Isabella. 

It  was  the  consideration  of  this  resolu- 
tion which  shut  the  flying  scenery  from 
his  gaze,  which  drew  fine  lines  about 
the  corners  of  his  firm  lips,  and  set 
his  face  to  such  a  look  of  dominant 
strength  as  made  the  high  spirited  Ameri- 
can girl  muse  thoughtfully  and  brought 
a  touch  of  colour  to  the  face  of  the  pseudo 
Countess  which  was  not  due  to  the  arti- 
fice of  her  maid. 

Such  men  are  masters  of  their  own. 

Paul  Verdayne  was  not  a  man  to  shirk 
responsibilities.  It  is  true,  dark  days  had 
come  to  him,  when  a  crushing  burden 
had  well-nigh  smothered  him,  and  a  bul- 
let to  still  his  fevered  brain  had  seemed 
far  sweeter  to   Paul   than   all  else   life 


13 


HIGH    NOON 

might  hold  for  him.  But  Paul  was  strong 
and  young.  He  learned  his  lesson  well 
— that  Time  cures  all  and  that  the  scars 
of  sorrow,  though  they  form  but  slowly, 
still  will  heal  with  the  passing  of  the 
years. 

Paul  was  still  young  and  he  had  much 
to  live  for,  as  the  world  reckons.  He  was 
rich  (a  thing  not  to  be  lightly  held),  one 
of  the  most  popular  M.  P.'s  in  England, 
and  the  possessor  of  a  fine  old  name.  It 
would  be  a  coward's  part,  surely,  to  spend 
the  rest  of  his  life  in  bemoaning  the  dead 
past.  He  would  take  up  the  duties  that 
lay  near  at  hand,  become  the  true  succes- 
sor of  his  respected  father,  old  Sir 
Charles,  and  delight  the  heart  of  his  fond 
mother,  the  Lady  Henrietta,  by  marry- 
ing Isabella  Waring,  the  sweetheart  of 
his  boyhood  days. 

So  Paul  sat  communing  with  himself 


H 


HIGH    NOON 

as  the  train  rushed  noisily  on,  sat  and  set- 
tled, as  men  will,  the  future  which  they 
know  not  of.  Alas  for  resolves!  Alas  for 
the  Lady  Henrietta!  Alas  for  Isabella! 
For  Paul,  as  for  all  of  us,  the  mutability 
of  human  affairs  still  existed.  Were  it 
not  so,  this  record  never  would  have  been 
written. 


*S 


CHAPTER  II 

« 

WITH  much  grinding  of  brakes 
and  hiss  of  escaping  steam,  the 
express  at  last  stopped  slowly 
in  the  little  station  and  the  door  of  Paul's 
compartment  was  swung  open  by  the  offi- 
cious guard  with  a  "Lucerne,  your  Lord- 
ship," which  effectually  aroused  him 
from  his  reverie. 

Paul  quietly  stepped  out  of  the  car, 
and  waited  with  the  air  of  one  among 
familiar  scenes,  while  his  man  Baxter 
collected  the  luggage  and  dexterously 
convoyed  it  through  the  hostile  army  of 
customs  men  to  a  fiacre.  In  the  midst  of 
the  bustle  and  confusion,  as  Paul  stood 
there  on  the  platform,  his  straight  manly 
form  was  the  cynosure  of  all  eyes.  A  fond 


17 


HIGH    NOON 

mamma  with  a  marriageable  daughter 
half  unconsciously  sighed  aloud  at  the 
thought  of  such  a  son-in-law.  A  pair 
of  slender  French  dandies  outwardly 
scorned,  but  inwardly  admired  his  ath- 
letic figure,  so  visibly  powerful,  even  in 
repose. 

But  all  oblivious  to  the  attention  he 
was  attracting,  Paul  waited  with  pas- 
sive patience  for  the  survey  of  his  lug- 
gage. For  was  not  all  this  an  old,  old 
story  to  him,  a  trifling  disturbance  on  the 
path  of  his  pilgrimage?  When  one  trav- 
els to  travel,  each  station  is  an  incident; 
not  so  to  him  who  journeys  to  an  end. 

But  Paul  was  not  destined  to  remain 
wholly  uninterrupted.  As  the  other  trav- 
ellers descended  from  the  carriage  and 
formed  a  little  knot  upon  the  platform, 
the  Comtesse  de  Boistelle,  now  occupied 
with  a  betuf ted  poodle  frisking  at  the  end 

18 


HIGH    NOON 

of  a  leash,  strolled  by  him.  As  she  passed 
Paul  she  dropped  a  jewelled  reticule, 
which  he  promptly  recovered  for  her,  of- 
fering it  with  a  grave  face  and  a  mur- 
mured "Permettez  moi,  Madame/' 

The  Comtesse  gently  breathed  a  thou- 
sand thanks,  allowing  her  carefully 
gloved  hand  to  brush  Paul's  arm. 

"Monsieur  is  wearied  with  the  journey, 
perhaps?"  she  said  in  a  low  voice.  And 
her  eyes  added  more  than  solici- 
tude. 

Paul  did  not  deny  it.  Instead,  he  raised 
his  green  Alpine  hat  formally  and  turned 
impassively  to  meet  his  man,  who  had 
by  then  stowed  away  the  boxes  in  the 
waiting  fiacre. 

In  the  group  of  Paul's  late  companions 
stood  the  American  girl  who  had  sat  fac- 
ing him  all  the  way  from  Paris.  He  was 
no  sooner  out  of  earshot  than — 


19 


HIGH    NOON 

"Did  you  see,  Mamma?"  she  whisp- 
ered to  the  matron  beside  her. 

"See  what,  Daisy?" 

"That  French  creature — she  tried  to 
talk  to  my  big  Englishman,  but  he 
snubbed  her.  What  a  fine  chap  he  must 
be!  I  knew  he  had  a  title,  and  I'm  just 
dying  to  meet  him.  Do  you  suppose  he'll 
stay  at  our  hotel?  If  he  does,  I'll  find 
somebody  who  knows  all  about  him.  Now 
I  understand  why  so  many  American 
girls  marry  titled  Englishmen.  If  they're 
all  as  nice  as  this  one,  I  don't  blame  them, 
do  you?" 

"Hush,  child,  hush!"  her  mother  re- 
proved. "How  can  you  run  on  so  about 
a  total  stranger?" 

But  the  girl  merely  smiled  softly  to 
herself  in  answer,  as  she  watched  Paul's 
straight  back  receding  down  the  plat- 
form. 


20 


HIGH    NOON 

Overwhelmed  with  a  rush  of  memo- 
ries, Paul  climbed  into  the  carriage.  It 
was  a  fine  afternoon,  but  he  did  not  see 
the  giant  mountains  rearing  their  heads 
for  him  as  proudly  in  the  sunshine  as  ever 
they  had  held  them  since  the  world  was 
new. 

For  Paul  just  now  was  lost  in  the 
infinite  stretches  of  the  past,  those  im- 
measurable fields  through  which  the 
young  wander  blithely,  all  unconscious  of 
aught  but  the  beautiful  flowers  so  ruth- 
lessly trampled  on,  the  luscious  fruits  so 
wantonly  plucked,  the  limpid  streams 
drunk  from  so  greedily,  and  the  cool 
shades  in  which  to  sink  into  untroubled 
sleep. 

Ah!  if  there  were  no  awakening! 
If  one  were  always  young! 

The  fiacre  stopped;  and  soon  Paul 
found  himself  in  the  hall  of  the  hotel, 


21 


HIGH    NOON 

surrounded  by  officious  porters.  The 
maitre  d'hotel  himself,  a  white-haired 
Swiss,  pushed  through  them  and  greeted 
him,  for  was  not  Sir  Paul  an  old  and  dis- 
tinguished guest,  who  never  failed  to 
honour  him  with  his  patronage  each 
year?  Himself,  he  showed  Paul  to  the 
same  suite  he  always  occupied,  and  with 
zealous  care  conferred  with  milord  over 
the  momentous  question  of  dinner,  a  mat- 
ter not  to  be  lightly  discussed. 

"And  the  wine?  Ah!  the  Tokayi  Im- 
perial, of  a  certainty.  Absolutely,  Mon- 
sieur, we  refuse  to  serve  it  to  anyone  but 
yourself.  Only  last  week  it  was,  when  a 
waiter  who  would  have  set  it  before  some 
rich  Americans — but  that  is  over,  he  is 
here  no  longer.'' 

Paul  smiled  indulgently  at  the  solicit- 
ous little  man.     It  was  good  to  be  here 


22 


HIGH    NOON 

again,  talking  with  Monsieur  Jacques  as 
in  the  old  days. 

"One  moment,  more,  Monsieur,  before 
I  go.  Is  it  that  Monsieur  desires  the  same 
arrangements  to  be  made  again  this  year 
— the  visit  to  the  little  village  on  the  lake, 
the  climb  up  the  Biirgenstock,  the  pil- 
grimage to  the  Swiss  farmhouse?  Yes? 
Assuredly,  Monsieur,  it  shall  be  done, 
tout  de  suite/' 

And  then  with  a  confident  air  as  of 
complete  and  perfect  understanding  on 
the  part  of  an  old  and  trusted  friend,  the 
bustling  little  maitre  d'hotel  bowed  him- 
self out. 

Paul  proceeded,  with  his  usual  care,  to 
dress  for  dinner,  pausing  first  to  stand  in 
the  window  of  his  dressing-room  and 
gaze  wistfully  upon  the  lake  he  loved  so 
well,  now  dimming  slowly  in  the  Spring 
twilight. 


23 


HIGH    NOON 

The  last  time  I  Ah,  well,  so  be  it, 
then.  There  must  come  an  end  to  all 
things.  And  Paul  turned  away  with  a 
sigh,  drawing  the  draperies  gently  to- 
gether, as  if  to  shut  out  the  memories  of 
the  past. 

How  well  he  succeeded,  we  shall  soon 
know. 

He  was  the  last  to  enter  the  restaurant, 
which  was  well  filled  that  evening.  On 
his  way  to  his  accustomed  place  he  passed 
the  table  at  which  sat  Miss  Daisy  Living- 
stone, his  American  fellow-traveller,  din- 
ing with  her  mother;  and  another  where 
the  Comtesse,  by  courtesy,  sat  toying  with 
a  pate.  To  Paul's  annoyance,  he  was 
greeted  further  down  the  room  by  a  mem- 
ber of  his  club;  Graham  Barclay  was  not 
a  particular  favourite  of  his,  at  any  time, 
and  furthermore  Paul  had  no  desire,  just 
now.   to  be   reminded  of   London.    As 


24 


HIGH    NOON 

civilly  as  he  could,  he  declined  an  invita- 
tion to  join  the  party,  pleading  fatigue 
from  his  long  journey,  and  moved  on  to 
the  end  of  the  room,  where  his  old  waiter, 
Henri,  stood,  with  hand  on  chair-back, 
ready  to  help  him  to  a  seat. 

"Deuced  fine  fellow,  Verdayne,"  ex- 
plained Barclay  in  parentheses  to  his 
friends.  "A  bit  abstracted  sometimes,  as 
you  see.  But  he'll  be  all  right  after  tif- 
fin. We'll  gather  him  in  for  billiards 
later." 

The  eyes  of  more  than  one  guest  fol- 
lowed Paul  as  he  walked  the  length  of 
the  restaurant,  for  Verdayne  possessed 
that  peculiar  quality — that  spiritual  at- 
traction— magnetism — (call  it  what  you 
will,  a  few  elect  mortals  have  it)  that 
stamps  a  man  indelibly.  But  of  all  those 
who  marked  him  as  he  moved  among  the 


25 


HIGH    NOON 

tables,  none  regarded  him  more  closely 
than  a  lady  who  sat  alone  in  a  small  re- 
cess, screened  from  prying  eyes  by  a  bank 
of  greenery. 

A  marvellous  lady  she  was,  with 
hair  as  black  as  the  sweep  of  a  raven's 
wing,  crowning  a  face  as  finely  chiselled 
as  any  Florentine  cameo.  And  if  the  dia- 
monds about  her  smooth  white  throat  had 
wondrous  sheen  they  were  not  more  lus- 
trous nor  more  full  of  sparkling  fire  than 
her  opalescent  eyes. 

Unseen  by  the  preoccupied  Paul,  she 
leaned  across  the  cloth,  scarcely  whiter 
than  her  pale  face,  and  gazed  at  him 
with  wonder — was  it  more  than  that? 
With  a  slight  movement  of  her  tapering 
hand  she  dismissed  the  liveried  servant 
stationed  behind  her,  and  stayed  on,  with 
food  and  wine  untouched.  And  Paul 
knew  it  not. 


26 


HIGH    NOON 

So  near  to  us  can  lie  the  hidden 
path  of  our  strange  destinies  until  the  ap- 
pointed hour. 


7!} 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  next  morning  Paul  breakfasted 
on  the  terrace.     The  gay  greet- 
ings of  old  friends,  the  pleasant 
babble  in  the  breakfast  room  ill  suited 
his  reflective  mood. 

And  as  he  sat  alone  under  the  fra- 
grant pergola  enjoying  his  cigarette  and 
dividing  his  attention  between  his  cof- 
fee and  the  Paris  Edition  of  the  Herald, 
a  pale,  dark-haired  lady  passed  by  as 
she  sought  the  terrace  for  an  early 
stroll.  Paul's'  eyes  were  on  his  paper 
at  that  moment — and  if  the  lady's  well- 
bred  glance  lingered  on  him  for  a 
brief  instant  as  he  turned  the  pages 
of  the  daily,  he  was  all  unconscious 
of  her  presence. 


29 


HIGH    NOON 

Perhaps  the  lady  may  have  seen 
something  about  the  strong,  wholesome, 
well-groomed  Englishman  that  pleased 
her,  perhaps  she  was  simply  glad  to  be 
alive  upon  that  glorious  morning,  with 
the  bracing  breeze  blowing  fresh  from 
the  lake,  and  the  sun  sending  his  welcome 
rays  down  upon  the  mountainside.  At 
all  events,  her  lips  parted  in  the  merest 
shadow  of  a  smile  as  she  walked  along 
the  gravelled  path  with  the  veriest  air  of 
a  princess. 

Alas!  the  smile  and  the  dainty  picture 
which  the  dark-haired  lady  made  as  she 
moved  down  the  flower  bordered  path  in 
the  sunshine,  her  morning  gown  clinging 
gracefully  about  her  slender  figure,  were 
alike  lost  on  the  engrossed  Paul.  With 
his  eyes  glued  to  the  criticism  of  a  sharp- 
penned  writer  on  the  last  measure  before 
Parliament,  he  read  on,  all  oblivious  to 


30 


HIGH    NOON 

his  surroundings.  Even  here,  at  his  be- 
loved Lucerne,  the  man  of  affairs  could 
not  escape  the  thrall  of  the  life 
into  which  he  had  thrown  the  whole 
effort  of  his  fine  mind. 

Sir  Paul  had  not  quite  finished  the 
breezy  article  when,  with  an  all 
pervading  blast  of  a  sweet-toned,  but 
unnecessarily  loud  Gabriel  horn,  a  big 
green  touring  car  came  dashing  up  to 
the  gate  of  the  little  hotel,  and  with  a 
final  roar  and  sputter,  and  agonized 
shriek  of  rudely  applied  brakes,  came  to 
a  sudden  stop.  From  it  there  emerged, 
like  a  monster  crab  crawling  from  a 
mossy  shell,  a  huge  form  in  a  bright  green 
coat — a  heavy  man  with  a  fat,  colourless 
face  and  puffy  eyes,  and  Paul,  glancing 
up  at  the  ostentatious  approach,  recog- 
nized in  him  a  nouveau  riche  whom  a 
political  friend  had  insisted  on  introduc- 


3i 


HIGH    NOON 

ing    in    London    a    few    days    before. 

Schwartzberger,  his  name  was  (Paul 
had  a  peculiar  trick  of  remembering 
names — the  fellow  was  said  to  have 
made  a  fortune  in  old  rags — no,  it  was 
tinned  meats — in  Chicago.  It  was  his 
proud  boast  that  he  started  in  the  business 
as  a  butcher's  errand  boy  but  a  few  years 
ago,  and  now2  no  supper  bill  at  the  Mou- 
lin Rouge,  no  evening's  play  at  Monte 
Carlo,  had  ever  made  a  material  deple- 
tion in  the  supply  of  gold  that  always 
jingled  in  the  pockets  of  his  loud  clothes. 
His  was  the  fastest  car  and  the  gayest  col- 
oured on  all  the  Continent,  and  he  was 
alike  the  hero  and  the  easy  dupe  of  every 
servant. 

As  the  stout  American  came  wad- 
dling uncertainly  up  the  walk,  with  a 
certain  elephantine  effort  at  jauntiness, 
he  nearly  collided  with  the  foreign  lady 


32 


HIGH    NOON 

who  had  crossed  his  path  to  reach  the 
further  limits  of  the  terrace.  Not  having 
a  cautioning  horn  attached  to  his  an- 
atomy to  warn  heedless  trespassers  from 
his  way,  the  large  person  was  forced  to 
give  ground,  but  had  some  difficulty  in 
veering  from  his  course  sufficiently  to 
avoid  an  accident.  However,  the  grande 
dame  slipped  past  him  quickly  and  dis- 
appeared amid  the  shrubbery — but  not 
before  her  extraordinary  beauty  had  daz- 
zled the  pork-packer's  beady  eyes. 

He  turned  and  stared  at  her. 

"Gee!  What  a  peach!"  he  murmured 
aloud,  in  words  which  came  wheezing 
from  between  thick  lips.  "I  wonder  if 
that's  the  Countess's  lady  friend  she  spoke 
of." 

Then,  catching  sight  of  Verdayne,  and 
knowing  him  at  once  for  the  swell  Eng- 
lish guy  he  had  met  at  the  Savoy,  he 


33 


HIGH    NOON 

panted  up  and  slapped  Paul's  shrinking 
back  with  his  fat,  white  hand. 

"Hullo,  Verdayne!  Just  the  man  I'm 
looking  for!  I  didn't  know  you  were  in 
this  part  of  the  world.  Hurry  up  with 
your  breakfast  and  join  me  and  my 
friend,  the  Countess  de  Boistelle,  in  a 
spin  around  the  lake.  Perhaps  you  know 
her  already.  No?  That's  easy  arranged 
— she's  a  particular  friend  of  mine,  and 
she's  got  a  chum  of  her's  staying  here  too, 
I  guess.  Make  up  a  foursome  with  us 
and  I'll  promise  you  this  old  place  won't 
be  half  slow.  When  it  comes  to  making 
things  hum,  nobody's  got  anything  on 
the  Countess." 

"Damned  bounder!"  growled  Paul  un- 
der his  breath;  and  aloud:  "Thanks,  I 
have  an  engagement.  Awfully  sorry,  and 
all  that,  you  know."  And  he  rose,  as  if 
to  end  the  interview. 


34 


HIGH    NOON 

"I'll  bet  you've  got  a  date  with  that 
queen  you  were  just  talking  to.  Ver- 
dayne,  you're  the  foxy  one.  Well,  I  can't 
say  you  haven't  got  good  taste,  anyhow, 
though  she's  a  little  too  quiet  for  me." 

"Talking  with  whom?"  inquired  Paul, 
in  a  cold  voice. 

"Why,  that  lady  that  just  left  here. 
She  nearly  ran  into  me  getting  away." 

"Schwartzberger,"  answered  Paul, 
with  great  deliberation,  as  he  folded  his 
newspaper,  "I  believe  that  a  lively  imagi- 
nation is  as  necessary  to  the  ideal  manage- 
ment of  the  pork-packing  industry  as  to 
all  other  business  activities.  Permit  me 
to  observe  that  I  can  predict  for  you  no 
cessation  of  the  remarkable  results  you 
have  achieved  in  your  chosen  profession." 
And  with  a  short  nod  he  started  down  the 
path. 


35 


HIGH    NOON 

Schwartzberger's  beady  eyes  blinked 
after  Paul  a  moment. 

"These  Englishmen  always  do  get  up 
in  the  air  over  nothing,"  thought  the 
pork-packer,  as  he  gazed  after  Paul  with 
a  puzzled  look  on  the  wide  expanse  of  his 
countenance.  Then  he  turned  his  great 
bulk  and  waddled  ponderously  into  the 
hotel,  in  search  of  his  particular  friend, 
the  Comtesse  de  Boistelle. 

Toward  the  landing  on  the  lake  Paul 
descended,  with  his  heels  biting  viciously 
into  the  gravel  at  every  step. 

"Confound  these  beastly  people  1"  he 
growled.  "Why  are  they  allowed  to  roam 
about  the  earth,  making  hideous  the  beau- 
tiful places.''  His  soul  revolted  at  even 
the  suggestion  that  he  could  have  thought 
for  any  but  his  beloved  Lady — his  Queen 
whom  he  had  not  seen  for  more  than  a 


36 


HIGH    NOON 

score  of  years;  and  would  never,  on  this 
fair  planet,  behold  again. 

On  a  coign  of  vantage  overlooking  the 
steep  slope  the  pale  lady  stood  with  her 
face  turned  toward  the  Burgenstock.  She 
watched  Paul  as  he  stalked  angrily  down 
the  hillside,  and  in  her  mind  compared 
him  with  the  monster  she  had  just 
avoided.  She  gazed  after  him  till  he 
reached  the  slip,  where  a  small  boat  was 
ready  for  him;  and  she  lingered  on  while 
he  stepped  lightly  into  the  skiff,  picked 
up  the  oars,  and  rowed  away  in  the  style 
an  Eton  man  never  forgets.  Motionless 
she  remained,  until  he  disappeared  be- 
hind a  fringe  of  larches  that  crept  close 
to  the  shelving  shore.  Then  slowly,  as 
with  regret,  she  turned  to  resume  her 
stroll. 

A  faint  colour  had  stolen  into  he** 
cheeks;  the  wonderful  eyes  had  grown 


37 


HIGH    NOON 

very  bright  and  wistfully  tender  and 
deep.  The  rare  old  lace  on  her  bosom 
fluttered  with  her  quickened  breath,  as 
softly  she  murmured : 

"Ah!  My  entrancing  one,  now  I  have 
seen  thee — and  I  understand!"  And  the 
larches  by  the  shore  trembled  as  if  in 
sympathetic  emotion  as  the  gentle  breeze 
echoed  her  sigh. 

A  half-hour  later  the  big  green  tour- 
ing-car spluttered  on  its  noisy  way  again; 
but  its  tonneau  contained  no  partie  carree. 
A  smartly  clipped  poodle  perched  in  the 
centre  of  the  wide  seat — on  one  side  of 
him  lounged  the  shapeless  green  form  of 
the  pork-packer,  on  the  other  side  grace- 
fully reposed  the  Comtesse  de  Boistelle. 

And  if  the  complacent  admiring 
glances  which  Schwartzberger  heavily 
bestowed  on  the  lady  of  his  choice  were 

38 


HIGH    NOON 

perhaps  too  redolent  of  the  proprietor- 
ship in  which  a  successful  pork-packer 
might  indulge,  they  were  at  least  small 
coins  in  the  mart  of  love,  which  is  Spring- 
time in  Lucerne. 

Up  the  lake  Paul  rowed  briskly,  work- 
ing off  his  ill-humour  in  the  sheer  exer- 
tion of  his  favorite  sport.  The  splendid 
play  of  his  powerful  muscles  carried  his 
light  craft  rapidly  over  the  blue  water, 
until  he  reached  a  secluded  little  bay 
where  he  had  often  gone  to  escape  from 
troublesome  travellers  at  the  hotel. 
Beaching  his  skiff,  he  threw  himself  at 
full  length  on  the  rocky  shore,  where  he 
lay  quite  still,  drinking  in  the  beauty  of 
the  prospect. 

Occasionally  the  wind  bore  to  him 
from  some  distant  ridge  or  hidden  glen 
the  tinkling  of  a  cow-bell,  as  the  herd 


39 


HIGH    NOON 

wandered  here  and  there  grazing  upon 
the  green  uplands.  Once — for  an  instant 
only — a  mirage  appeared  upon  the  south- 
ern sky,  as  if  in  mute  testimony  to  the 
transitory  character  of  all  earthy  things, 
the  fleeting  phases  of  human  life.  It 
seemed  to  Paul,  with  a  score  of  years 
dimming  the  vista  of  his  young  manhood, 
not  more  shadowy  and  unreal  than  the 
wonderful  scenes  in  which  years  before 
he  had  played  all  too  brief  a  part. 

Little  by  little,  as  he  lay  motionless,  the 
sun  stole  toward  the  zenith.  But  to  Paul, 
alone  with  his  memories,  the  earth  seemed 
bathed  in  a  luminous  pall — a  mysterious 
golden  shroud. 

"Oh!  God,"  he  cried,  out  of  the  an- 
guish of  his  soul,  "what  a  hideous  world! 
Beneath  all  this  painted  surface,  this  be- 
dizened face  of  earth,  lies  naught  but  the 
yawning  maw  of  the  insatiable  universe. 


40 


HIGH    NOON 

This  very  lake,  with  its  countenance  cov- 
ered with  rippling  smiles,  is  only  a  cruel 
monster  waiting  to  devour.  Everything, 
even  the  most  beautiful,  typifies  the 
inexorable  laws  of  Fate  and  the  futility 
of  man's  struggle  with  the  forces  he 
knows  not." 

He  looked  far  off,  wistfully,  to  the 
great  pile  of  the  Burgenstock,  the  one 
place  in  the  whole  world  that  for  him  was 
most  rich  in  tender  memories.  And  yet 
he  knew  that  its  undulating  blueness  hid 
hard,  relentless  rock,  as  unyielding  as  the 
very  hand  of  death  itself. 

"Love,"  he  said  slowly,  his  heart  swell- 
ing with  the  deep  sense  of  his  loss,  "love 
should  lead  to  happiness  and  peace — not 
to  conflict,  murder,  and  sudden  death." 

And  he  lay  there  pondering,  until  at 
last,  as  always  in  the  end,  his  better  genius 
triumphed.    And  when  the  evening  sun- 


4i 


HIGH    NOON 

shine  turned  the  windows  of  the  distant 
hamlets  into  tongues  of  flame  and  set  the 
waters  in  the  little  bay  a-dancing,  he 
rowed  slowly  back  to  the  hotel,  his  own 
resourceful  English  self  again. 

Far  up  on  the  side  of  the  Burgenstock 
a  dim  light  shone — a  faint  glow,  until  a 
cloud  bank,  stealing  ever  nearer,  nearer, 
crept  between  like  some  soft  curtain,  and 
the  silent  mystery  of  the  evening  fell  upon 
the  lake,  and  wrapped  the  mountains  in 
a  velvet  pall. 


4* 


CHAPTER  IV 

NEARLY  a  week  had  passed  since 
Paul  reached  the  Mecca  of  his 
pilgrimage.  Other  guests  at  the 
hotel  had  seen  little  of  him,  except  as  they 
glimpsed  him  of  a  morning  as  he  made  an 
early  start  to  some  favourite  haunt;  or 
again  as  he  returned  at  nightfall,  to  pass 
quickly  through  the  chattering  groups 
upon  the  terrace  or  about  the  hall  and  re- 
tire to  his  suite,  where  usually  his  dinner 
was  served  in  solitary  state. 

His  resolutely  maintained  seclusion 
was  so  marked  that  even  his  English 
friends,  accustomed  as  they  were  to  the 
exclusiveness  of  their  kind,  commented 
on  it.  Barclay  openly  lamented,  for,  as 
he  said,  "Was  not  Sir  Paul  the  best  of 


43 


HIGH    NOOK 

company  when  he  chose,  and  why  come 
here  to  this  gay  garden  spot  to  mope?" 

Daisy  Livingstone,  the  American  girl, 
from  that  meeting  in  the  train  had  found 
a  peculiar  attraction  in  her  big  English- 
man, as  she  called  Verdayne  playfully 
when  speaking  of  him  to  her  friends.  She 
knew  now,  of  course,  that  he  was  the  fam- 
ous Sir  Paul  Verdayne,  the  personage  so 
prominent  in  British  public  affairs.  And 
she  remembered,  too,  with  a  woman's 
quick  intuition  for  a  heart  forlorn,  Paul's 
sad,  almost  melancholy  face. 

One  balmy  evening,  as  she  was  slow- 
ly strolling  back  and  forth  beside  her 
mother  on  the  terrace,  "Mother,"  she 
said  in  a  low  voice,  "why  should  Sir  Paul 
look  so  triste?  He  has  everything,  appar- 
ently, that  a  man  could  wish  to  make  him 
happy — health,  wealth,  and  a  success  that 
can  be  the  result  only  of  his  own  efforts. 


44 


HIGH    NOON 

And  yet  he  is  not  happy.  What  hidden 
sorrow  can  he  have — some  grief,  I  am 
sure — that  should  keep  him  away  from 
all  companions?  Every  day  he  goes  away 
alone.  And  I  have  seen  him  armost  every 
night,  coming  back  to  the  hotel,  only  to 
disappear  in  his  rooms,  where  he  must 
spend  many  lonely  hours." 

"Really,  Daisy,  you  are  much  too  in- 
terested in  this  Verdayne.  When  I  was  a 
girl,  I  never  should  have  paid  such  close 
attention  to  the  humour  of  a  strange  man. 
Don't  you  think  that  you  are  becoming 
altogether  too  attracted  by  this  English- 
man?" 

Mrs.  Livingstone  was  an  old-fashioned 
mother  who  was  little  in  sympathy  with 
the  free  and  easy  point  of  view  of  radical 
latter-day  Americans. 

"Not  at  all,  mother.  I  find  something 
to  interest  me  in  all  the  people  here.    Sir 


45 


HIGH    NOON 

Paul  is  merely  a  distinct  type,  just  as  that 
awful  fat  American  with  the  automobile 
is  another  in  his  own  way,  and  that  horrid 
French  creature  who  goes  motoring  with 
him  every  day. 

Then  there  is  the  beautiful  dark- 
haired  foreign  lady,  too — she  is  more  fas- 
cinating to  study  than  all  the  rest.  She 
must  be  a  Russian  from  her  colouring, 
and,  besides,  she  wears  those  wonderful 
embroideries.  And  her  servants,  too,  talk 
some  outlandish  gibberish  among  them- 
selves. Of  course  she  belongs  to  the  no- 
bility, you  can  see  that,  even  in  the  way 
she  walks. 

"Really,  mother,  while  I'm  a  true 
enough  American  not  to  be  dazzled 
by  the  glamour  of  a  coronet,  there  is 
something  in  a  long  line  of  well-bred  an- 
cestry. You  know  the  old  saying,  'Blood 
will  tell.'    I've  woven  quite  a  fairy  story 

46 


HIGH    NOON 

about  those  wonderful  eyes  of  hers.  She 
is  the  princess  in  the  fairy  story  whom 
some  fine  prince  will  find  and  wake  up 
with  a  kiss.  I  wonder — perhaps  my  Eng- 
lishman  " 

She  paused,  quite  carried  away  by  her 
own  fancy. 

"Ah!  there  she  is — my  fairy  princess — 
now,  down  there!"  and  the  girl  indi- 
cated a  rustic  seat  beneath  a  spreading 
cedar  some  distance  below  them.  As  Daisy 
chattered  on,  she  and  her  mother  had 
drawn  close  to  the  edge  of  the  terrace. 
And  there  in  the  gathering  dusk,  looking 
out  over  the  lake,  sat  the  pale-faced  lady 
with  the  dark  hair  and  the  glorious  eyes. 

As  the  two  Americans  stood  gazing 
down  the  declivity,  a  small  boat  cut  across 
their  line  of  vision  and  came  up  to  the 
slip  with  a  sweep  which  only  the  expert 
oarsman  can  achieve. 


47 


HIGH    NOON 

"The  Englishman— Sir  Paul!"  ex- 
claimed the  girl.  "You'll  see  him  soon 
coming  up  the  path  that  passes  close  to 
the  big  cedar." 

And  even  as  she  spoke,  the  figure  that 
jumped  from  the  skiff  started  up  the  nar- 
row trail.  The  lady,  too,  must  have  been 
watching  him,  for  she  rose  suddenly  from 
her  seat  and  quickly  gained  the  terrace, 
which  she  crossed  immediately  to  enter 
the  hotel. 

"Why  did  she  leave  when  she  saw  him 
coming?"  the  girl  asked,  quick  to  divine 
the  hidden  impulse.  "Why  did  she  run 
away  like  that?  I'd  rather  have  stayed 
and  had  a  good  look  at  him!  I  wonder 
if  she  doesn't  want  him  to  see  her.  Now 
that  I  think  about  it,  she  never  stays  where 
he  can  meet  her." 

"Come,  child!  Don't  be  absurd!"  said 
Mrs.  Livingstone,  and  locking  her  arm 


48 


HIGH    NOON 

within  that  of  her  daughter's,  she  drew 
gently  away. 

With  lagging  steps  Paul  climbed  the 
hill.  The  natural  quieting  effect  of  the 
day  spent  in  tender  cherishing  of  old-time 
memories  had  not  been  dispelled  by  his 
recent  violent  exercise,  and  the  rustic 
bench  invited  him  more  than  the  bustling 
hotel  and  the  prospect  of  a  dreary  dinner. 
But  he  forced  himself  to  his  tub  and  even- 
ing clothes,  and  once  more  dined  alone. 
The  fixed  habits  of  a  lifetime  are  not  to 
be  lightly  set  aside  for  some  passing 
whim. 

That  night  would  be  Paul's  last  at  Lu- 
cerne. The  week  had  been  one  of  strain, 
and  there  had  come  over  him  a  fatigue 
scarcely  less  intense  than  he  could  have 
felt  had  he  actually  experienced  anew  the 
scenes  he  had  been  living  over  in  imagi- 
nation.   But  with  weariness  had  come  a 


49 


HIGH    NOON 

resignation  which  at  last  seemed  final — a 
renunciation  of  his  dream-life.  Now 
must  he  put  away  forever  the  haunting 
memories  that  seemed  always  outlined, 
however,  dimly,  on  the  tablets  of  his 
brain.  To-morrow  he  would  be  speeding 
on  his  way  westward,  to  London  and 
duty.  Can  we  blame  Paul  if  he  shrank  a 
bit  from  defining  the  latter  too  precisely. 
He  dined  very  late,  and  after  an  hour 
spent  with  his  cigar,  a  newspaper,  and 
letters  that  demanded  attention,  he  felt 
the  oppression  of  the  room  and  stepped 
out  into  the  night,  where  myriads  of  stars 
dotted  the  sky  with  their  bright  points. 
On  the  bench  beneath  the  great  cedar,  a 
little  distance  down  from  the  terrace, 
Paul  seated  himself  to  enjoy  a  final  cigar. 
The  cool  air  put  new  life  into  him ;  he  felt 
calmer — more  at  peace  with  the  world — 
than  had  been  the  case  for  many  years. 


;o 


HIGH    NOON 

All  was  settled  now.  He  was  sure  of 
his  ability  to  return  to  England,  to  go 
straight  to  Isabella  and  tell  her  all.  That 
she  would  marry  him,  he  had  no  doubt. 
Too  much  of  the  old  fondness  still  per- 
sisted between  them  for  any  other  out- 
come to  be  possible.  Indeed,  he  could 
see  no  reason  why  they  should  not  make 
each  other  contented. 

Paul  no  longer  used  the  word  happy, 
even  in  his  solitary  thoughts.  Happi- 
ness, that  priceless  elusive  treasure,  can 
come  only  to  a  heart  at  peace  in  the 
warm  sunshine  of  love.  Material  things 
can  make  for  contentment,  but  ah!  how 
uncertain  is  that  will-o'-the-wisp  happi- 
ness. 

As  he  sat  pondering  over  the  future, 
which  now  lay  before  him  more  definitely 
almost  than  he  had  dared  to  think,  a  faint 
sound  caught  his  ear — the  merest  stir  as 


S1 


HIGH    NOON 

of  something  moving  above  him.  The 
stairway  leading  from  the  terrace  to  the 
path  below  formed  a  partial  shelter  for 
the  bench.  He  turned  instinctively,  gaz- 
ing at  the  landing,  but  saw  nothing. 

He  had  just  decided  that  his  nerves 
were  playing  him  a  trick,  when  the  sound 
was  repeated.  This  time  he  felt  sure  that 
some  one,  some  thing,  was  stirring  close 
back  of  him.  Again  he  turned  and 
scanned  the  flight  of  steps,  gray  in  the 
bright  starlight,  until  suddenly  his  eyes 
stood  still.  They  rested  as  if  stopped  by 
some  mysterious  compelling  power — 
some  living  magnet  that  seemed  to  hold 
them  against  his  will.  And  then  in  the 
luminous  light  the  delicate  outlines  of  a 
face  seemed  to  establish  themselves,  like 
a  shadowy  canvas  painted  by  some  fairy 
brush. 

It  was  a  face  Paul  knew  right  well,  for 


52 


HIGH    NOON 

it  had  scarcely  left  him,  waking  or  sleep- 
ing, for  many,  many  years.  Framed  in 
the  dark  foliage,  it  leaned  toward  him 
over  the  parapet,  half  visible,  half  ob- 
scured. 

In  a  twinkling  the  weight  of  a  score  of 
years  slipped  like  a  cloak  from  Paul's 
shoulders.  With  a  wild,  choking  cry  he 
leaped  to  his  feet,  and  stretching  both  his 
arms  above  him,  "My  Queen!  my 
Queen!"  he  called. 

But  as  he  moved  the  vision  vanished. 
And  Paul  knew  that  it  was  only  a  cruel 
jest  of  Fate,  and  himself  to  be  as  ever  but 
the  plaything  of  his  evil  genius,  which 
never  ceased  to  torture  him.  Relentlessly 
the  load  of  years  crept  back  upon  him 
and  like  an  Old  Man  of  the  Sea  wound 
themselves  about  his  shoulders  and 
clutched  him  in  a  viselike  grip,  and  he 


S3 


HIGH    NOON 

sank  with  a  convulsive  gasp  upon  the 
bench  again. 

Soon  the  spasm  passed.  But  for  Paul 
the  night  was  no  longer  beautiful.  Only- 
unutterable  sadness  seemed  to  pervade  the 
place.  The  very  air  seemed  heavy  with 
oppressive  grief.  And  rising,  he  tottered 
like  an  old  man  around  to  the  foot  of  the 
steps  and  dragged  himself  slowly  up. 

He  had  reached  the  landing  immedi- 
ately above  the  bench  he  had  just  quitted 
when  he  saw  a  blur  of  white — an  indis- 
tinct patch  in  the  half-light.  He  reached 
forward,  and  his  trembling  fingers  closed 
upon  a  lady's  handkerchief.  And  then — 
he  caught  the  faintest  breath  of  a  per- 
fume, strange  yet  hauntingly  familiar,  as 
if  the  doors  of  the  dead  past  had  opened 
for  an  instant. 

Heavens!  Her  perfume!  His  brain 
reeled.    He  rushed  up  to  his  sitting-room, 


54 


HIGH    NOON 

and  there,  under  the  bright  light,  he  ex- 
amined the  trophy.  It  was  real — there 
was  no  doubt  about  that.  Paul  had  half 
fancied  that  after  all  it  was  only  another 
trick  of  his  imagination.  But  there  lay 
the  scrap  of  filmy  stuff  upon  his  table,  as 
tangible  as  the  solid  oak  on  which  it 
rested. 

He  folded  it  carefully  and  placed 
it  in  his  pocket.  For  some  moments  he 
pondered  over  the  strange  coincidence, 
and  as  he  thought,  the  clouds  lifted  from 
his  brain  again.  If  this  were  chance, 
surely  there  was  some  consistency  in  it  all. 
Fortune  always  sets  mile-posts  on  the  road 
to  her,  and  with  a  thrill  Paul  realized 
that  he  was  still  a  young  man  and  that 
this  tiny  suggestion  from  the  destiny 
which  directs  poor  mortals'  affairs  was 
not  to  be  disregarded.  The  time  for  ac- 
tion had  come. 


55 


HIGH    NOON 

He  descended  briskly  to  the  hall  and 
scanned  the  visitors'  list.  The  names 
— most  of  them — meant  nothing.  Except 
for  Barclay  and  his  party  Paul  knew  no 
one  in  the  place.  Indeed,  he  had  held 
himself  aloof  from  chance  acquaintances. 

By  this  time  no  guests  remained  about 
the  lounge.  In  the  doorway  stood  Mon- 
sieur Jacques.    Paul  went  up  to  him. 

"I  found  a  handkerchief  outside  just 
now/'  he  said,  forcing  a  careless  voice. 
"Perhaps  the  lady  to  whom  it  belongs  has 
just  come  in?" 

"No  one  has  entered  for  a  quart 
d'heure,  Sir  Paul.  Helas!  It  was  not  so 
in  the  old  days.  It  was  always  gay  then 
at  this  time  of  the  night,  with  the  band 
playing  and  all  the  guests  chattering  like 
mad."  The  maitre  d'hotel  breathed  a 
gentle  sigh  for  the  halcyon  days  of  long 
ago. 

56 


HIGH    NOON 

Momentarily  baffled,  to  his  rooms  Paul 
turned  again,  and  threw  himself  into  a 
big  armchair,  where  he  sat  wondering 
till  in  the  gray  light  of  morning  the  form- 
less shadows  around  him  took  the  shape 
of  the  luxurious  furnishings  of  his  suite. 

What  face  had  peered  at  him  through 
the  branches?  In  spite  of  the  token  he 
had  found  on  the  steps,  Paul  could  scarce- 
ly believe  that  the  vision  had  been  one  of 
flesh  and  blood.  The  handkerchief  with 
the  familiar  scent? — merely  an  odd  coin- 
cidence. But  still — well,  the  puzzle 
might  be  worth  the  solving. 

At  last  he  rose,  and  drawing  the  heavy 
hangings  close  to  keep  out  the  insistent 
light,  he  lay  down  upon  his  bed,  to  fall 
into  a  troubled  sleep. 


57 


CHAPTER  V 

WHEN  he  awoke  it  was  almost 
noon,  and  too  late  to  catch  the 
Paris  train.  Fate  again!  And 
yet  there  arose  no  feeling  of  rebellion  in 
Sir  Paul.  If  he  were  in  the  hands  of  a 
great  will,  let  that  same  will  direct.  There 
would  be  another  train  in  the  evening, 
but  Paul  would  have  none  of  it.  His 
mood  had  changed.  He  could  not  leave 
the  place  quite  yet.  So  he  dressed  leisure- 
ly; and  it  was  not  till  mid-afternoon  that 
his  flannel-clad  figure  appeared  upon  the 
lawn.  He  had  no  energy  for  a  walk  or 
row,  and  spent  the  time  till  dinner  read- 
ing and  smoking. 

That  night  he  did  not  wish  to  dine 
alone.     The  approach  of  darkness,  with 


59 


HIGH    NOON 

its  eerie  suggestion  of  his  strange  experi- 
ence of  the  night  before,  made  him  crave 
the  society  of  his  kind.  As  he  passed 
through  the  lounge,  carefully  groomed  as 
ever,  his  friend  Barclay  called  to  him. 

"I  say,  Verdayne!  Join  us  to-night, 
won't  you,  old  chap?  We  will  be  dining 
early." 

The  cheery  English  voice  was  what 
Paul  needed,  and  though  he  had  all  the 
week  avoided  the  party — there  were 
three  men — now  he  gladly  greeted  them. 
Barclay,  totally  unable  to  account  for 
Paul's  sudden  recension  from  his  aloof- 
ness, nevertheless  secretly  rejoiced.  He 
greatly  admired  Verdayne,  and  had  felt 
rather  hurt  at  his  keeping  quite  so  much 
to  himself.  With  a  wisdom  beyond  his 
usual  capabilities,  however,  he  refrained 
from    making    any    comment    and    only 

60 


HIGH    NOOK 

showed  the  pleasant  eagerness  of  a  cordial 
host. 

They  were  the  first  to  enter  the  restau- 
rant, and  as  they  sat  there  with  talk  of 
familiar  things  in  Paul's  ears  he  began  to 
feel  himself  again. 

After  dinner  Paul  played  billiards,  and 
then  took  a  hand  at  bridge,  and  when  at 
length  the  game  broke  up  he  was  sure  of 
himself;  the  amusement  of  the  evening 
had  been  sane  enough  to  convince  Paul 
that  there  would  be  no  visions  for  him 
that  night.  He  took  a  few  turns  back  and 
forth  before  the  hotel,  and  then,  rounding 
a  corner  of  one  of  the  wings,  he  came 
upon  a  little  rustic  tea-house  hidden  away 
among  a  wealth  of  shrubbery  and  young 
trees. 

A  fancy  to  explore  it  seized  him, 
and  he  followed  the  path  that  led  toward 
it.    The  heavy  vines  clustering  complete- 

61 


HIGH    NOON 

ly  over  the  structure  made  the  interior 
of  an  inky  blackness.  Paul  halted  on  the 
threshold  and  struck  a  match.  At  first, 
as  the  phosphorus  flared,  the  darkness  be- 
yond seemed  intensified.  Then,  as  the 
flame  subsided,  Paul  saw — the  face  again, 
looking  straight  into  his — the  same  beau- 
tiful face,  it  seemed,  that  had  gazed  at 
him  on  that  memorable  night  years  be- 
fore, the  same  red  lips,  the  same  wonder- 
ful eyes. 

The  blazing  match  fell  from  his 
fingers,  and  in  another  moment  he  clasped 
a  warm  and  clinging  figure  in  his  arms. 
Without  a  word  their  lips  met  in  one  long 
kiss.  To  Paul  it  was  as  if  he  had  been 
transported  to  some  distant  sphere,  and  in 
some  mystic  fashion  transcending  time 
and  space,  he  held  his  lady  in  his  arms 
again. 

62 


HIGH    NOON 

But  it  was  no  dream;  that  kiss  was  a 
reality. 

A  low  cry  suddenly  broke  the  silence — 
a  quick  exclamation  of  alarm.  It  was  a 
language  Paul  remembered  well,  for  his 
Queen  had  often  talked  to  him  caressingly 
in  her  own  strange  tongue.  He  started 
and  turned  his  head,  to  see  a  tongue  of 
flame  leaping  shoulder-high  behind  him. 
The  match  had  fallen  on  some  inflam- 
mable drapery  and  set  the  place  afire.  He 
seized  a  rug  and  tried  to  smother  the 
blaze,  but  the  little  house  was  a  tinder 
box. 

The  lady  had  not  moved  meanwhile. 
But  as  the  sound  of  running  feet  and  a 
loud  call  of  "Au  feu!  Au  feu!"  shattered 
the  quiet,  she  sprang  like  a  frightened 
fawn  out  into  the  darkness.  An  instant 
later,  blinded  by  the  glare  of  the  con- 

63 


HIGH    NOON 

flagration,  Paul  followed.  He  was  too 
late.  The  darkness  had  swallowed  her 
completely,  and  with  the  blaze  still  daz- 
zling his  eyes  Paul  could  scarcely  see 
even  the  hurrying  forms  that  came  racing 
up  the  path. 

In  a  few  moments  the  tea-house  was  a 
ruin.  Paul  hurried  to  the  hotel,  v/here 
several  startled  guests  had  gathered  in 
somewhat  scanty  attire,  alarmed  by  the 
cry  of  fire  ringing  out  into  the  still  night. 
But  the  lady  of  the  midnight  kiss  was  not 
there. 


64 


CHAPTER  VI 

TOO  stirred  within  his  heart  to  sleep, 
Paul  paced  the  lawn,  in  the  vain 
hope  of  seeing  her  again. 

He  was  walking  lightly  over  the  wet 
grass  with  almost  silent  feet,  so  occupied 
with  his  thoughts  that  he  came  near  to 
walking  into  a  couple  talking  beneath  a 
tree. 

When,  however,  he  beheld  them,  he 
came  to  a  sudden  standstill,  all  his  senses 
alive,  his  quick  intuition  telling  him  he 
was  in  the  presence  of  some  matter  of  mo- 
ment 

A  little  portly  man  with  an  evident  air 
of  authority  was  talking  to  a  woman  in  a 
flowing  cloak.  Emphasizing  his  remarks 
with  true  Gallic  gestures,  but  with  all  his 

65 


HIGH    NOON 

excitement  making  an  evident  effort  to  be 
guarded  in  his  tone,  he  was  all  oblivious 
to  Paul's  presence. 

The  girl  Paul  could  not  see  plainly,  but 
it  was  with  some  unaccountable  notion  of 
doing  her  a  service,  and  not  with  the  re- 
motest idea  of  eavesdropping,  that  he 
stepped  softly  and  silently  to  the  further 
side  of  a  tree  trunk. 

Then  he  heard  the  girl's  voice  saying  in 
low,  quiet,  earnest  accents: 

"Why  will  you  not  let  me  rest?  Why 
do  you  pursue  me  in  this  way?  Surely  it 
is  inhuman  to  adopt  these  methods.  Is 
it  fair  to  follow  me  to  a  place  like  this  and 
insult  me  in  this  way?" 

The  man  mumbled  something  which 
Paul  could  not  catch. 

Then  he  heard  the  girl  utter  a  little  cry. 

"Look!"  she  exclaimed  eagerly.  "Look! 
I  will  make  you  an  offer.    Free  me  from 

66 


HIGH    NOON 

this  horrible  nightmare,  give  me  your 
word  that  you  will  not  persecute  me  fur- 
ther, and  I  will  give  you  these." 

Paul  heard  the  rustle  of  draperies,  and 
was  conscious  that  the  girl  reached  out 
her  hands. 

The  man  greedily  took  something 
from  her.  His  head  was  bent  over  the 
object,  whatever  it  might  be,  long  and 
earnestly. 

Then  he  heard  a  thick  voice  say  in 
French:  "They  are  beautiful,  very  beau- 
tiful. But  what  are  they  to  us?  You 
think  they  are  worth  a  hundred  thousand 
roubles,  eh?  Suppose  they  are — what  of 
that?  Do  you  think  a  hundred  thousand 
roubles  will  save  you?    Bah!" 

The  man  chuckled  thickly. 

"But  they  are  very  pretty  baubles,"  he 
went  on,  "and  since  you  offer  them  to  me, 

67 


HIGH    NOON 

I  see  no  reason  why  I  should  not  keep 
them." 

"Ah!"  cried  the  girl.  "Then  Boris  will 
be  satisfied?" 

"Satisfied!"  exclaimed  the  man,  "satis- 
fied, for  this  much!  Not  he!  Why,  it's 
ridiculous." 

"Then  give  them  back  to  me,"  said  the 
girl,  quietly,  with  a  quaver  in  her  voice. 
"Give  them  back  to  me.  Would  you  rob 
me?" 

"I  am  not  robbing  you,"  answered  the 
man,  sullenly.  "I  am  taking  what  you 
offered  me.  I  shall  not  give  them  back. 
It  is  impossible  for  you  to  make  me.  You 
would  cry  out,  would  you?  What  good 
would  that  do?  Cry  out,  call  for  help — 
do  what  you  like — but  think  first  what 
will  it  mean  for  you.  Give  them  back? 
Not  I!    I " 

But  his  speech  ended  suddenly  at  this 

68 


HIGH    NOON 

point,  for  Paul,  always  quick  to  action, 
took  quick  action  now. 

Moving  round  the  trunk  of  the  tree,  he 
caught  the  man  deftly  by  the  collar  of  his 
coat,  kicked  his  heels  from  under  him, 
and  brought  him  with  a  heavy  crash  to 
the  ground. 

The  man  lay  still. 

In  a  second  Paul  was  on  his  knees  be- 
side the  prostrate  figure.  With  swift  fin- 
gers he  searched  the  man's  clothing  and 
found  a  mass  of  jewels  in  the  breast-pocket 
of  his  outer  coat. 

In  a  twinkling  he  had  them  out,  and, 
rising  to  his  feet,  he  held  a  heavy  string  of 
diamonds  towards  the  girl. 

"Madam,"  he  cried,  "permit  me  to  be- 
friend you.  I  do  not  know  who  you  are, 
but " 

His  voice  trailed  away  into  a  little 
gasp,  for  the  frightened  face  that  stared 

69 


HIGH    NOON 

at  him  in  the  moonlight  with  starting 
eyes  was  the  face  of  the  lady  he  was  seek- 
ing. 

Paul  stood  still  gazing  mutely  at  the 
girl  and  holding  out  the  jewels  towards 
her. 

When  he  had  recovered  from  his  great 
surprise  he  moved  a  step  nearer  to  her. 

"Madam,"  he  said,  "permit  me  to  in- 
sist that  you  shall  take  these  things  back." 

Without  a  word  she  stretched  out  her 
hand  and  took  the  jewels  from  him.  She 
hid  them  quickly  in  the  folds  of  her  cloak, 
and  all  the  while  the  expression  of  amaze 
and  fear  on  her  face  did  not  abate. 

At  last  she  pointed  to  the  man  lying 
beneath  the  tree. 

"You  have  not  killed  him?"  she  asked, 
in  a  low  voice. 

For  answer,  Paul  turned  again  and 
knelt  at  the  fat  man's  side.  He  inserted  his 


70 


HIGH    NOON 

hand  skilfully  over  the  unconscious  man's 
heart,  and  then  rose  to  his  feet  again. 

"No,"  he  said,  almost  with  a  laugh. 
"Just  knocked  him  out;  that  is  all.  He 
will  be  all  right  directly,  and  I  fancy  he 
will  be  glad  to  walk  away  without  assist- 
ance. I  imagine  he  is  not  a  character  who 
would  care  for  much  fuss  and  attention  at 
this  time  of  the  night." 

Again  Paul  drew  near  to  the  girl  and 
peered  gravely  and  keenly,  but  at  the 
same  time  with  all  deference,  into  her 
face. 

"I  think,"  he  said  quietly,  "that  it  will 
be  better  for  you  to  walk  away  while  we 
are  still  undisturbed.  If  you  will  allow 
me,  I  will  accompany  you  toward  the 
hotel.  If  I  may  be  permitted  to  say  so, 
it  is  hardly  fitting  that  a  lady  carrying  so 
much  property  about  with  her  should  be 
strolling  here  unattended." 


7i 


HIGH    NOON 

His  tones  were  so  kind  and  cheering 
that  the  lady  smiled  back  at  him. 

"At  least,"  she  said,  "you  are  a  very 
sturdy  escort." 

She  walked  beside  him  without  saying 
anything  more,  apparently  satisfied  to  be 
in  his  charge. 

Paul  said  not  another  word  except, 
"This  is  the  way,"  and  then,  guiding  the 
girl  through  the  trees,  he  reached  the 
main  path  and  helped  her  to  step  over  the 
low  iron  railing;  thence  he  piloted  her  in 
silence  until  the  hotel  was  in  sight 

As  the  building  loomed  up  in  the  dark- 
ness, Paul  stopped,  and  said  earnestly: 

"I  trust  you  will  permit  me  to  wait  and 
see  you  safely  on  your  road.  Apparently 
one  never  knows  what  may  happen,  and, 
believe  me,  I  have  no  wish  you  should 
suffer  a  second  adventure  such  as  the  one 
through  which  you  have  just  passed." 


72 


HIGH    NOON 

"Thank  you,"  said  the  girl  in  a  scarce- 
ly audible  voice.  Then  turning  towards 
him,  she  stretched  out  her  hand  impul- 
sively. 

"Thank  you,"  she  said.  "Thank  you. 
I  cannot  tell  you  how  much  I  thank  you. 
You  are  a  gentleman.  It  is  not  necessary 
to  ask  you  as  a  gentleman  not  to  mention 
to  anyone  in  the  world  what  you  have 
seen  or  heard  to-night." 

Paul  bowed. 

"You  may  trust  me  absolutely,"  he  said. 
"I  give  you  my  word  of  honour  that  not 
one  single  word  of  this  shall  pass  my  lips. 
But  may  I  say  something  else?  May  I  be 
allowed  to  make  an  offer  of  help?  I  have 
money,  I  have  many  resources  at  my  com- 
mand. I  would  willingly  pledge  myself 
to  serve  you  in  any  way.  I  should  be  only 
too  proud,  too  glad  to  help." 

"No,  no!"  cried  the  girl,  sharply,  with 


73 


HIGH    NOON 

a  piteous  little  gesture  and  a  note  almost 
of  agony  in  her  voice. 

The  distress  in  her  tones  was  so  real 
that  Paul  made  no  further  effort  to  per- 
suade her.  So,  lifting  his  hat,  he  stood 
waiting  for  her  to  take  leave  of  him. 
Once  more  she  stretched  out  her  hand  im- 
pulsively, and  he  took  it  in  his  own. 

"Thank  you,"  she  said,  in  the  same  low, 
earnest  voice,  "thank  you  again  and 
again."  Then  she  turned  and  walked 
quickly  away. 

Paul  strolled  slowly  back  to  the  hotel, 
in  a  more  perplexed  state  of  mind  than 
before.  Was  it  possible  that  he  had 
stepped  suddenly  into  the  midst  of  some 
tragic  mystery?  What  sorrow,  what  ter- 
ror had  made  the  eyes  of  the  girl  so  wist- 
ful and  so  beckoning? 

That  she  might  be  suffering  some  pro- 
found grief,  or  might  be  the  centre  of 

74 


HIGH    NOON 

some  bit  of  distressing  family  history, 
might  well  be  conceived.  But  what  ex- 
traordinary combination  of  inappropri- 
ate events  could  possibly  cause  her  to  seek 
to  buy  quittance  of  such  a  man  as  he  had 
left  insensible? 

He  sat  far  into  the  night,  turning  all 
these  things  over  in  his  mind. 

Obviously  it  was  not  some  question  of 
personal  honour  which  involved  the  ne- 
cessity of  maintaining  some  sordid  and 
disgraceful  secret,  or  the  lady  would  not 
be  risking  her  personal  safety,  and  to  a 
great  extent  her  reputation,  by  being  pres- 
ent at  such  a  rendezvous. 

Whatever  it  might  be — the  mystery 
which  embraced  her — Paul  determined, 
whether  it  pleased  her  or  not,  that  he 
would  range  himself  on  her  side. 

To  do  this,  however,  it  would  be  neces- 
sary to  discover  what  the  mystery  was, 

75 


HIGH    NOON 

and  he  proceeded  to  set  up  and  then  de- 
molish a  thousand  and  one  theories  to  ac- 
count for  her  plight;  and  he  was  still  far 
from  the  solution  when  he  fell  asleep. 


# 


CHAPTER   VII 

AGAIN  the  mid-day  sun  was  gilding 
L  the  canopy  of  his  couch  when  Paul 
awoke.  He  sprang  up  and  dressed 
hurriedly.  That  day  he  must  discover 
who  the  lady  was. 

Renewed  inquiries  of  Monsieur 
Jacques  yielded  no  further  information. 
Rose-red  lips  and  coils  of  raven  hair  no 
longer  made  on  the  maitre  d' hotel  the 
same  impression  as  in  the  golden  days 
when  the  band  played  dreamy  waltzes 
and  dashing  gentlemen  leaned  caressing- 
ly over  dazzling  shoulders. 

Of  the  man  he  had  felled,  Paul  spoke 
never  a  word.  Apparently  he  had  van- 
ished as  he  had  come — unknown. 

"Truly,  Sir  Paul,  there  has  been  no 


77 


HIGH    NOON 

lady  here  to  answer  your  description.  But 
stop!  A  Russian  lady  perhaps,  you  say? 
II  est  possible/'  Monsieur  Jacques  laid 
a  searching  finger  on  his  speculative 
brow.  "Mademoiselle  Vseslavitch,  peut- 
etre.  Yes — tall,  surely, — a  brunette,  too, 
like  most  of  those  Russians.  She  left  this 
morning,  quite  early." 

Paul's  heart  leaped,  only  to  stop  again 
at  the  last  sentence. 

"Left?  Where  did  she  go,  mon  ami?" 
He  and  Monsieur  Jacques  were  good 
friends,  and  Paul  knew  that  his  interest, 
though  perhaps  unaccountable  to  the  old 
inn-keeper,  was  still  in  safe  hands. 

"That  I  do  not  know.  But  we  shall  see 
what  we  shall  see.  One  moment,  Mon- 
sieur.'7 

Calling  a  porter,  the  maitre  d'hotel 
gesticulated   with   him    for    a   moment. 

78 


HIGH    NOON 

Then  he  returned  to  where  Paul  waited 
impatiently. 

"Emil  here  says  that  he  purchased 
bookings  to  Langres  for  the  lady,"  he 
said. 

Langres!  Isabella  and  London  were  a 
million  miles  from  Langres  at  that  in- 
stant! The  memory  of  that  kiss  alone  re- 
mained. 

Paul's  mind  was  made  up.  He  would 
start  for  Langres  that  very  day.  He 
hurried  to  his  rooms,  where  Baxter  was 
soon  packing  his  boxes.  And  then  Paul's 
eye  fell  on  the  table,  on  the  picture  of 
Isabella  that  he  had  brought  with  him. 
She  had  given  him  an  excellent  likeness, 
in  a  leather  case,  the  day  he  came  away. 
Her  frank  eyes  seemed  to  smile  at  him 
amusedly. 

Paul  pulled  himself  together. 

"I  ana  mad!"  he  told  himself — "to  be 


79 


HIGH    NOON 

carried  away  by  a  momentary  impulse,  to 
forget  all  for  a  fancied  resemblance!  .  .  . 
Paris!  Baxter!"  he  said  curtly,  turning  to 
his  valet. 

And  when  Paul  reached  the  station  it 
was  with  the  firmest  of  resolutions  to 
hurry  home,  stopping  only  one  night  in 
Paris  to  break  the  tiresome  journey. 

"En  voiture!"  the  guards  sang  out,  and 
Paul  climbed  into  his  carriage,  once  more 
the  staid  M.  P.  he  thought — But  was  he? 
Could  he  ever  be  again? 

Toward  Paris,  then,  the  fast  mail  bore 
him  rapidly;  and  at  the  same  time  to- 
ward Langres.  When  they  reached  Bale, 
Baxter  telegraphed  to  the  Hotel  du  Rhin 
in  Paris  for  a  suite.  At  Belfort  Paul  di- 
rected him  to  send  another  message  can- 
celling the  reservation.  And — alas  for 
Paul's  good  resolutions ! — at  the  station  of 

80 


HIGH    NOON 

Langres-Marne,  a  mile  from  the  old  ca- 
thedral town  itself,  he  left  the  train,  tak- 
ing only  a  big  Gladstone  bag  with  him, 
and  sent  Baxter  on  alone  to  Paris,  to  wait 
until  he  should  arrive. 

Another  short  journey  remained,  so  in 
company  with  the  inevitable  soldier, 
priest,  and  old  lady  with  a  huge  umbrella, 
Paul  took  a  seat  in  one  of  the  open  cars 
of  the  little  rack-and-pinion  railway  that 
runs  up  the  steep  hill  through  the  apple 
orchards  to  the  old  cathedral  city.  In  a 
few  minutes  the  train  stopped  at  a  minia- 
ture station. 

It  had  begun  to  rain,  and  Paul  was  con- 
scious that  he  was  an  object  of  interest  as 
he  stood  on  the  steps  of  the  station  looking 
about  him  in  search  of  a  fiacre. 

No  vehicle  was  in  sight,  so  he  set  him- 
self to  tramp  up  the  hill  to  the  Hotel  de 
I'Europe,  at  which  he  had  stayed  long 

81 


HIGH    NOON 

years  before,  and  of  which  he  still  enter- 
tained a  lively  recollection  of  its  clean- 
ness and  its  quaintness. 

The  hotel  slept,  and  Verdayne  heard 
the  bell  pealing  through  the  silent  house 
as  he  stood  shivering  and  waiting  on  the 
doorstep. 

Presently  he  heard  the  sound  of  bolts 
being  withdrawn  and  a  shock-headed 
night  porter  thrust  his  face  out  into  the 
damp  evening  air. 

The  sight  of  Sir  Paul's  tall  figure  drew 
his  immediate  attention. 

"What  does  Monsieur  require?"  he 
asked  in  accents  which  were  at  once  civil 
and  surprised. 

"Let  me  in,"  said  Verdayne,  "and  I 
will  do  my  best  to  explain." 

The  man  led  the  way  to  a  delightfully 
large   and   airy   room,   half  salon,  half 

82 


HIGH    NOON 

chambre  a  coucher,  where  Paul  was  glad 
to  remove  the  stains  of  travel. 

First  he  took  the  precaution  of  draw- 
ing a  couple  of  half-crowns  from  his 
pocket  and  slipping  them  into  the  man's 
hand. 

"You  need  not  be  alarmed  at  my  ap- 
pearance," he  said.  "I  am  not  a  fugitive 
from  justice.  I  am  merely  an  English 
gentleman  who  has  lost  his  friends  and 
who  is  in  search  of  them. 

"Tell  me  if  you  have  staying  in  this 
hotel  a  tall  young  lady  with  dark  hair 
and  brilliant  eyes?  It  is  possible  that 
she  is  travelling  incognito,  but  if  she  has 
given  her  right  name  it  will  be  Made- 
moiselle Vseslavitch." 

The  man  scratched  his  head  and  looked 
worried. 

"I  would  help  Monsieur  if  I  could," 
he  said,  "but  I  can  only  assure  him  that 

83 


HIGH    NOON 

there  is  no  lady  staying  in  this  hotel  at  all. 
Alas !  the  season  is  very  bad,  and  we  have 
few  visitors." 

That  this  dark-haired  lady  was  not  at 
the  Hotel  de  I'Europe  did  not  disconcert 
Verdayne  very  much.  He  had  foreseen 
that  she  was  hardly  likely  to  stay  in  the 
hotel  with  which  English  tourists  would 
be  acquainted. 

"It  is  many  years,"  he  said  to  the  man, 
"since  I  stayed  here.  In  fact,  I  have  prac- 
tically no  recollection  of  Langres  except 
of  this  hotel  and  the  cathedral.  I  should 
therefore  be  very  much  obliged  if  you 
could  furnish  me  with  a  complete  list  of 
all  the  other  hotels." 

"Why  now,"  said  the  man,  "that  is  an 
exceedingly  simple  affair."  And  he  rat- 
tled off  a  list. 

Paul  repeated  them  after  him. 

84 


HIGH    NOON 

"And  you  think/'  he  asked,  "that  this 
is  a  complete  list?" 

"Quite  complete,  I  should  say,"  said 
the  man,  "for  Monsieur's  purpose. 

"Permit  me  to  help  Monsieur,"  he 
went  on.  "Monsieur  will  pardon  me,  but 
possibly  this  may  be  some  romance." 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders,  but  with 
such  an  air  of  civility  and  respect  that 
Verdayne  could  not  quarrel  with  him. 

"At  any  rate,  it  is  not  my  business  to 
inquire.  For  the  time  it  is  merely  my  end 
to  serve  Monsieur  well.  Be  seated  for  a 
moment  while  I  make  coffee  and  bring 
rolls  and  butter.  It  will  fortify  Monsieur 
against  the  damp  air." 

Laughing  a  little,  Paul  suffered  the 
man  to  bustle  about.  The  fellow  was  deft 
indeed,  and  soon  Verdayne  was  glad  that 
he  had  listened  to  his  counsel. 

Midnight  drew  near  and  the  porter 

85 


HIGH    NOON 

turned  the  lights  out,  but  Paul  sat  until 
cockcrow,  smoking  and  pondering  on  the 
strange  paths  into  which  one's  feet  are 
sometimes  led. 

Shortly  after  eight,  the  man,  who  had 
been  busy  cleaning  boots,  returned  and 
made  a  gesture  towards  the  sunlight, 
which  was  streaming  into  the  room. 

"If  Monsieur  is  in  haste,"  he  said,  "I 
will  not  seek  to  detain  him.  By  this  time 
the  other  hotels  will  be  open.  If  Mon- 
sieur's mission  is-  urgent  he  should  con- 
tinue his  search." 

His  air  was  so  friendly  and  so  charm- 
ing that  Paul  resorted  to  the  only  expres- 
sion of  appreciation  of  which  he  could 
conceive.  He  gave  the  man  another  ten 
francs,  and  pledged  him  to  silence. 
None  the  less,  he  had  little  faith  that  the 

86 


HIGH    NOOK 

man  would  keep  his  tongue  still.  A 
Frenchman  must  talk. 

After  a  light  breakfast  Paul  went  out 
into  the  fresh  morning  air  and  began  his 
search.  In  turn  he  visited  the  Hotel  de 
la  Poste,  le  Grand,  de  la  Cloche,  and  the 
rest  of  them,  wandering  around  the  cob- 
bled streets  of  the  sleepy  village,  and 
strolling  through  the  market-place,  gay 
with  the  green  and  red  and  russet  of 
its  vegetables,  the  blue  and  crimson  of 
the  umbrellas  over  the  stalls.  Then,  in 
the  unclouded  sunshine,  he  walked 
around  the  ancient  ramparts,  from  which 
point  of  vantage  he  looked  down  upon 
wide  stretches  -of  sunlit  country,  dotted 
here  and  there  with  vineyards. 

It  cost  him  a  pretty  sum  to  purchase 
the  confidence  of  half-suspicious  porters, 
but  by  the  time  he  had  worked  through 
the  list  with  which  the  friendly  servitor 

87 


HIGH    NOON 

had  provided  him  he  had  come  to  the 
conclusion  that  Mademoiselle  Vsesla- 
vitch  was,  of  a  certainty,  not  in  one  of 
these  hostelries. 

Was  she  still  in  Langres?  The  doubt 
troubled  Paul  greatly. 

All  the  time^  as  he  walked  on  through 
the  narrow  streets,  Paul's  eyes  sought  the 
object  of  his  quest  in  vain.  Apparently 
he  was  the  only  foreigner  in  the  town.  It 
was  nearly  twelve  as  he  turned  into  the 
Promenade  de  la  Blanche  Fontaine,  a  fine 
wide  avenue  of  chestnut  trees  which  re- 
called to  Paul  the  Broad  Walk  at  Oxford, 
and  being  the  only  pedestrian  abroad  at 
that  hour,  he  said  a  few  swear-words  to 
himself  by  way  of  consolation. 

Clearly,  this  search  for  the  lady  might 
prove  a  case  for  Sherlock  Holmes,  while 
Paul's  own  detective  ability,  he  admitted, 
was  more  of  the  Dr.  Watson  order. 


88 


CHAPTER  VIII 

IT  was  after  twelve  when  Paul  sought 
the  shade  of  the  Hotel  de  I'Europe 
again.  There  the  few  sounds  that 
pierced  the  mid-day  stillness  were  chiefly 
those  that  penetrated  from  the  kitchen, 
where  Monsieur  le  Cusinier  and  his  as- 
sistants were  busily  engaged  in  the  prepa- 
ration of  dejeuner.  And  it  was  not  long 
before  Paul  sat  down  to  a  delightful 
meal,  served  in  a  vine-framed  window. 
He  was  alone  in  the  room,  and  feeling 
the  need  of  encouragement  he  invited  the 
genial  landlord  to  share  a  bottle  of  Bur- 
gundy with  him. 

The  two  men  sat  there,  toasting  each 
other  more  and  more  gaily  as  the  red  nec- 
tar fell  lower  in  the  long  bottle,  until 

89 


HIGH    NOON 

finally,  perceiving  his  host  to  be  in  a  con- 
fidential mood,  Paul  questioned  him 
about  tourist  travel. 

"Ah!  Monsieur!  May  the  bon  Dieu 
bless  you!  You  are  the  first  to  visit  us 
this  summer.  It  is  early  yet.  But  soon 
they  will  come  to  see  our  wonderful  ca- 
thedral, and  stay  a  day  or  two  with  us." 

Paul's  spirits  drooped  again  at  this  in- 
formation, but  for  an  hour  after  finishing 
his  demi-tasse  he  lingered  at  the  table, 
hoping  for  some  clue,  while  Monsieur  le 
Proprietaire  chattered  on. 

There  was  indeed  but  little  to  amuse 
the  traveller  in  Langres,  after  the  ca- 
thedral, beyond  the  quaint  streets  and 
the  beautiful  old  timber-framed  houses. 
Doubtless  Monsieur  Verdayne — he  did 
not  know  Paul's  title — would  wish  to  see 
the  cathedral  that  very  afternoon;  it 
would  be  pleasant  to  go  to  vespers.     A 


90 


HIGH    NOON 

little  later  for  himself,  he  would  recom- 
mend another  walk  to  the  ramparts  to  see 
the  sun-set. 

Meanwhile,  he  knew  of  some  truly 
marvellous  Chartreuse  in  the  cellar  be- 
low. Would  not  Monsieur  compliment 
him  by  tasting  it?  Monsieur  would,  with 
much  pleasure;  and  accordingly  a  dusty 
bottle  was  soon  forthcoming. 

So  another  slow  hour  wore  away.  And 
again,  in  the  cool  of  the  afternoon,  Paul 
ventured  forth  on  another  tour  of  inspec- 
tion. 

This  time  the  search  was  successful.  In 
a  narrow  street  he  discovered  a  small 
hotel  which  went  by  the  name  of  the  Re- 
publique.  Here  his  question  put  to  the 
plump  Madame  who  opened  the  door,  at 
once  kindled  interest. 

"Yes,  there  was  most  decidedly  a  Rus- 
sian lady  staying  there — a  young  Russian 


9i 


HIGH    NOON 

lady  of  most  distinguished  appearance. 
She  had  arrived  about  noon  on  the  day 
before,  and  said  she  intended  to  stay  there 
for  a  couple  of  days,  as  she  expected 
friends." 

"Had  the  friends  arrived?" 

"No,  not  as  yet.  Perhaps  Monsieur 
was  the  friend  for  whom  she  waited?" 

Verdayne  was  hardly  prepared  for 
this,  and  found  the  situation  a  trifle  awk- 
ward to  explain. 

"No,"  he  said  to  the  fat  Madame,  he 
was  not  the  friend  whom  Mademoiselle 
had  come  to  meet.  He  was,  however,  an 
acquaintance,  and  would  call  later  in  the 
day. 

Contenting  himself  with  this,  he  lifted 
his  hat  and  strolled  down  the  street,  fol- 
lowed by  the  shrewd,  smiling  eyes  of  the 
landlady. 

He  walked  on  until  he  felt  sure  he  was 


92 


HIGH    NOON 

no  longer  observed;  then  he  walked  back 
again. 

On  the  opposite  side  of  the  street  to  the 
Republique,  a.  few  doors  up,  he  discov- 
ered a  cafe  of  humble  aspect,  provided 
with  tables  beneath  an  awning,  at  which 
the  thirsty  could  sit  and  refresh  them- 
selves. 

At  one  of  these  tables  Paul  took  a  chair, 
and  at  the  risk  of  violent  indigestion 
called  for  more  coffee.  He  sat  and 
sipped  the  sweet  and  chicory-flavoured 
liquid  and  turned  about  in  his  mind  the 
best  means  of  discovering  the  reason  of 
Mademoiselle  Vseslavitch's  visit  to  Lan- 
gres. 

He  debated  with  himself  whether  it 
would  not  be  better  to  go  boldly  over  to 
the  hotel  and  made  his  presence  known; 
but  he  reflected  that  such  a  course  might 
be  unwise.     Indeed,  the  very  knowledge 


93 


HIGH    NOON 

of  his  presence  might  result  in  her  aban- 
doning the  business  which  had  called  her 
so  suddenly  from  Lucerne. 

As  time  went  on  he  glanced  up  and 
down  the  street,  watching  everyone's  ap- 
proach with  interest.  Towards  half-past 
four  his  attention  was  aroused  by  the  ap- 
pearance of  a  man  whose  aspect  was  out 
of  keeping  with  the  little  street. 

The  stranger  was  above  middle  height, 
and  bore  himself  with  a  certain  air  of 
quiet  dignity.  He  was  dressed  in  black, 
his  clothes  being  well  cut,  though  of  ob- 
viously foreign  tailoring. 

It  was  the  man's  face,  however,  which 
riveted  Paul's  attention.  It  was  very 
dark,  and  the  nose  was  somewhat  flat; 
not  at  all  the  prevailing  French  type. 
Yet  it  was  a  face  of  great  refinement 
and  distinction,  accentuated  in  a  strange 


94 


HIGH    NOON 

way  by  a  long,  black,  and  well-trimmed 
beard. 

The  man,  plainly,  was  not  a  French- 
man, nor,  Paul  decided,  was  he  a  Ger- 
man; certainly  he  was  not  an  Italian  nor 
an  Austrian.  A  subtle  something  about 
the  man's  whole  appearance,  indeed, 
brought  Verdayne  to  the  conclusion  that 
he  was  a  Russian. 

And  then  that  rare  gift  of  intuition 
which  had  always  been  Paul's  great  aid 
in  times  of  trouble  told  him  that  this  dig- 
nified and  daintily-walking  stranger  was 
in  some  manner  connected  with  Made- 
moiselle Vseslavitch's  presence  at  the 
Hotel  de  la  Republique. 

So  certain  of  this  was  he  that  at  once 
he  took  the  precaution  of  drawing  further 
back  into  the  cafe,  where  he  could  sit  in 
the  shadows  and  watch  the  passage  of  the 


95 


HIGH    NOON 

stranger  without  arousing  any  interest 
himself. 

Twice  the  black-bearded  man  walked 
up  the  street,  glancing  sharply  at  the  Re- 
pub  lique,  and  twice  he  walked  back  with 
the  same  meditative  and  dilatory  air. 
Then  he  turned  the  corner  and  disap- 
peared. 

The  proprietor  of  the  inn  busied  him- 
self about  the  cafe,  and,  seeming  curious 
about  the  visitor's  long  sojourn,  Paul  or- 
dered a  further  supply  of  the  chicory-like 
coffee. 

It  was  not  long  before  his  patience  was 
rewarded.  There  was  some  bustle  about 
the  door  of  the  inn,  and  then  he  saw  the 
fat  landlady  bowing  and  scraping  on  the 
white  doorstep,  and  out  of  the  shadows 
into  the  sunshine  stepped  the  girl  he  had 
come  to  find. 

Dressed  all  in  black  and  thickly  veiled, 


HIGH    NOOK 

Mademoiselle  Vseslavitch  came  quickly 
out  of  the  doorway  and  walked  down  the 
street. 

Paul,  who  had  previously  taken  the 
precaution  to  settle  his  score,  immedi- 
ately rose  and  walked  after  her. 

The  street  was  so  narrow  and  there 
were  so  many  people  about  that  he  had 
to  follow  pretty  closely  in  order  to  avoid 
losing  her.  He  noted  with  some  surprise 
that  she  walked  straight  ahead,  as  though 
with  studied  purpose,  never  faltering 
and  never  so  much  as  glancing  to  the 
right  or  to  the  left. 

Down  the  hill  they  went  and  so  into  the 
space  about  the  cathedral,  where  busy 
women  had  set  out  their  wares — poultry, 
pottery,  vegetables  and  the  like. 

More  than  one  head  was  turned  to  note 
the  quick,  silent  passage  of  Mademoi- 
selle Vseslavitch.     Hers,  indeed,  was  a 


97 


HIGH    NOON 

physique  which  could  not  have  escaped 
notice,  no  matter  what  its  surroundings. 

On  the  market-square,  having  a  clearer 
view  before  him2  Paul  slackened  his  pace 
and  allowed  the  distance  to  increase  be- 
tween them. 

Still  the  beautiful  Russian  lady  walked 
straight  ahead,  as  one  who  follows  an  oft- 
trodden  path  and  knows  full  well  whith- 
er that  path  leads. 

She  moved  up  the  cathedral  steps,  and 
as  she  did  so  Paul  saw  approaching  the 
sombre  figure  of  the  black-bearded  man 
whose  presence  in  the  little  street  by  the 
Hotel  de  la  Republique  had  aroused  his 
interest  earlier  in  the  morning. 

But  though  their  steps  were  evidently 
leading  them  to  the  same  spot,  neither  the 
black-bearded  man  nor  Mademoiselle 
Vseslavitch  made  the  least  sign  that 
either  was  aware  of  the  other's  presence. 

q8 


HIGH    NOON 

The  girl  passed  into  the  cathedral,  the 
man  following  closely  on  her  heels. 

In  fear  of  losing  sight  of  them  Paul  al- 
most ran  across  the  square  and  darted  up 
the  cathedral  steps.  But  for  all  his  speed 
his  feet  fell  silently,  so  that  neither  the 
girl  nor  the  man  who  followed  her, 
heard. 


99 


CHAPTER  IX 

ONCE  in  the  cathedral,  Paul  paused 
in  his  pursuit. 
The  picturesque  interior  was 
aglow  with  the  declining  rays  of  the  sun, 
which  streamed  through  a  large  window 
behind  the  organ  upon  a  great  silver  Cal- 
vary surmounting  the  high  altar,  and 
gilded  the  white  caps  of  a  handful  of  old 
bourgeoises  sprinkled  here  and  there  in 
the  straight-backed  pews. 

The  bell  tolled  and  a  low  murmuring 
began.  They  were  reciting  the  Office  of 
the  Rosary.  Paul  was  stirred  by  the  scene 
as  never  before  by  any  devotional  services 
and  in  spite  of  his  eager  desire  to  learn 
more  about  the  dark-eyed  lady,  all 
through  the  prayers  and  responses  he  was 


IOI 


HIGH    NOON 

rapt  as  in  some  mystic  spell.  With  the 
benedicite  by  the  young  abbe,  a  column  of 
incense  rose  before  the  Calvary,  a  moving 
pearl-coloured  shaft  in  the  soft  light,  for 
the  sun  had  set.  And  as  the  cantors  and 
the  pious  folk  at  worship  sang  Tantum 
ergo  the  Host  was  borne  out  through  the 
gate  at  the  east  end  of  the  choir  to  the 
Lady  altar. 

To  Paul  it  seemed  as  if  the  full  mean- 
ing of  the  Roman  Catholic  faith  was 
borne  upon  him  for  the  first  time.  With 
a  tremendous  influence  upon  his  emo- 
tions, its  intimate  relation  with  the  soul 
and  the  sentiment  of  the  human  hearts 
gathered  there  quickened  the  utmost 
depths  of  his  nature.  Having  thus  wit- 
nessed that  impressive  service,  it  was  im- 
possible for  him  to  feel  that  he  was  not 
one  with  it,  and  of  it;  and  all  differences 
of    religious   creeds   escaped   his    mind. 


1 02 


HIGH    NOON 

Surely,  he  thought,  this  is  a  commun- 
ion of  the  spirit — the  fruit  of  simple 
feeling  and  natural  impulse.  For  the 
moment  he  had  forgotten  that  he  was  thr 
descendant  of  a  long  line  of  staunch  sup- 
porters of  the  Church  of  England. 

The  singing  ceased,  and  still  Paul  stood 
with  head  uncovered.  In  his  exaltation 
the  thought  came  to  him  that  this  vision 
so  like  his  Queen,  which  he  was  seeking 
here  in  this  byway  of  the  earth,  had  been 
sent  to  him  by  his  dear  Lady.  Had  she 
not  told  him  that  although  parted  from 
him  in  the  flesh,  she  would  always  be 
with  him  in  the  spirit?  And  now  that 
her  beautiful  being  had  been  borne  away 
from  this  world  of  strife,  was  it  not  pos- 
sible that  by  some  intercession  she  had 
been  able  to  send  another,  almost  as  di- 
vine as  herself,  to  comfort  and  strengthen 
him? 


103 


HIGH    NOON 

From  that  time  the  impulse  which 
had  sent  Paul  on  his  search  was  fired 
by  some  mysterious,  guiding  hand.  His 
quest  became  a  sacred  duty.  Filled  with 
the  new  mission,  seized  by  a  sudden  fer- 
vour as  were  the  knights  in  olden  days, 
crusaders  who  had  made  their  vows  on  the 
cross  in  that  very  sanctuary,  Paul  moved 
quietly  towards  the  chancel,  there  to  be- 
speak a  blessing. 

With  outstretched  hand  the  priest  mur- 
mured the  words  Paul  craved.  Then  he 
rose,  and  was  walking  slowly  toward  the 
door  of  the  transept,  when  he  came  to  an 
image  of  the  Virgin,  before  which  a  sin- 
gle candle  burned.  And  there,  before  the 
sacred  figure,  knelt  the  lovely  object  of 
his  pilgrimage.  Impressed  by  a  rever- 
ence of  the  scene,  Paul  passed  on,  filled 
with  a  holy  joy.  At  last  he  felt  a  strange 
exalting  peace. 


104 


HIGH    NOON 

Paul  little  dreamed  the  nature  of  the 
lady's  prayers.  Conscious  of  the  suddenly 
awakened  love,  which  that  feverish  kiss 
had  stirred  to  life  within  her,  she  had 
come  to  the  cathedral  to  seek  for  spir- 
itual help.  She  had  felt  the  need  of  some 
higher  will  than  her  own  to  strengthen 
her  resolve  to  steel  her  heart  against  this 
fiery  wooer.  She  was  filled  with  an  al- 
most irresistible  longing  to  throw  herself 
into  his  arms  and  confess  her  quickening 
love.  And  that  she  knew  too  well  she 
must  not  do. 

At  last  she  lifted  her  bowed  head,  and 
rising  slowly  to.  her  feet,  she  genuflected 
before  the  altar.  Then  she  turned  and 
slipped  through  a  door  of  a  small  side 
chapel,  into  which  the  black-bearded  man 
closely  followed.  Paul's  instinct  was  to 
follow,  too,  and,  in  the  calm  security  of  a 


105 


HIGH    NOON 

mind  made  up,  he  retraced  his  steps  down 
the  aisle. 

He  saw  that  it  would  be  impossible  for 
him  to  approach  the  side  chapel  by  the 
same  way  as  the  black-bearded  stranger 
had,  if  he  wished  to  remain  unobserved. 
So  he  turned  aside  and  drew  near  to  the 
chapel  by  another  way,  sheltering  him- 
self behind  the  pillars,  which  cast  deep 
shadows  on  the  floor. 

Paul  was  following  his  old  stalking 
habit,  which  he  had  acquired  when  in 
pursuit  of  big  game  among  the  Rockies. 
Yet  with  all  his  care  he  almost  blundered 
into  his  quarry.  For,  as  he  moved  silently 
round  a  pillar,  he  became  conscious  that 
he  was  so  near  to  the  lady  that  he  could 
have  stretched  out  his  hand  and  touched 
her. 

In  an  instant  he  drew  back  and  stood 
still  behind  a  massive  column.    He  could 


106 


HIGH    NOON 

see  nothing^  but  he  could  hear  the  voices 
of  the  girl  and  her  companion  in  low  and 
earnest  conversation. 

At  first  it  was  the  man  who  did  most  of 
the  talking,  and  from  what  few  of  his 
words  he  could  catch  Paul  judged  him  to 
be  speaking  in  French.  He  droned  on 
for  some  minutes,  and  then  his  voice  died 
away. 

Mademoiselle  Vseslavitch  now  asked 
several  questions  in  quiet,  low  tones. 
The  man  answered  sharply  and  incisive- 
ly, and  it  seemed  to  Paul  that  there  was 
command  in  his  voice. 

For  a  while  there  was  a  complete 
silence,  which  at  last  was  broken  by  long, 
choking  sobs.  Edging  a  little  farther 
round  the  pillar,  Paul  saw  the  lady  kneel- 
ing upon  a  prie-dieu  as  though  in  an 
abandonment  of  grief.  She  was  crying  as 
though  her  heart  would  break,  her  face 


107 


HIGH    NOON 

buried  in  her  hands.  The  sombre  man 
stood  by  like  some  tall  shadow,  silent  and 
unmoving. 

A  quick  and  great  desire  to  go  to  her 
aid,  to  gather  her  into  his  arms  and  com- 
fort her,  took  possession  of  Verdayne. 
But  great  as  his  desire  was,  he  forced  it 
down,  recognizing  that  the  moment  had 
not  come  for  him  to  intervene. 

Presently  the  sombre  man  moved  closer 
to  Mademoiselle  Vseslavitch's  side,  and, 
putting  out  a  gloved  hand,  touched  her 
lightly,  and  with  the  air  of  one  offering 
silent  sympathy,  on  the  shoulder. 

Paul  heard  him  murmuring  what  must 
have  been  words  of  comfort,  and  before 
long  she  lifted  her  face  and  resolutely 
wiped  away  her  tears.  Then  she  rose  and 
went  forward  to  the  altar,  on  the  steps  of 
which  she  knelt  and  prayed.  Finally  she 
came  back  to  the  black-bearded  man  and 


1 08 


HIGH    NOON 

held  out  her  hand,  and  Paul  saw  with 
still  growing  wonder  that  the  man  bent 
over  it  as  though  with  great  respect  and 
brushed  her  fingers  with  his  lips.  With- 
out any  further  word  she  walked  quickly 
and  quietly  away,  making  for  the  door 
through  which  she  had  entered  the  cathe- 
dral. 

The  man,  with  a  little  sigh,  picked 
up  his  hat  and  followed  her,  Paul  hard 
upon  his  heels. 

Outside  in  the  sunshine,  Verdayne 
watched  the  fair  Russian  make  across  the 
square  by  the  way  which  she  had  come. 
Her  companion  turned  abruptly  to  the 
right  and  walked  rapidly  away. 

Paul  followed  her  till  she  came  to  the 
Hotel  de  la  Republique,  when  she  disap- 
peared through  the  doorway. 

Darkness  fell  and  Paul  saw  no  more  of 
109 


HIGH    NOOK 

his  beautiful  Russian.  In  spite  of  all  his 
efforts  she  still  remained  as  great  a  mys- 
tery as  ever.  Almost  beside  himself  with 
impatience,  he  returned  to  the  hotel. 
Many  wild,  almost  boyish,  schemes,  by 
which  he  hoped  he  could  meet  the  lady 
entered  his  head.  Most  of  them  Paul  re- 
jected— and  none  of  them  could  be  put 
into  execution,  for  the  one  responsible  for 
their  conception  remained  hid  in  the  lit- 
tle hotel. 

Considerably  at  odds  with  the  world, 
he  went  in  to  dinner,  the  excellence  of 
which  did  not  dispel  his  gloom. 

"Counfounded  silly,  this!"  he  com- 
plained to  himself.  "Here  I  am,  a  lonely 
knight,  eating  a  marvelously  good  dinner 
in  enforced  solitude,  with  a  beautiful  lady 
imprisoned  in  the  upper  rooms  of  the 
castle.  In  the  rare  old  days  I  could  go  up 
and   knock   the   jailers'   heads   together, 


no 


HIGH    NOON 

break  in  the  door,  and  bear  the  captive 
damsel  away  on  my  charger.  But  in  this 
unromantic  age  I  can't  even  send  in  my 
card." 


i  if 


CHAPTER  X 

ALL  unconscious  of  Paul's  presence 
only  a  few  short  steps  away  Made- 
moiselle Natalie  Vseslavitch,  for 
so  we  will  call  her  until  she  herself 
chooses  to  reveal  more,  had  rushed  to  her 
rooms,  her  heart  almost  overwhelmed  by 
a  new  and  dreadful  burden. 

The  tidings  she  had  left  Lucerne  to 
know,  whose  bearer  was  the  black- 
bearded  gentleman,  which  had  so  aroused 
Paul's  curiosity,  were  simply  these.  Her 
hand  was  sought  in  marriage. 

Truly  not  such  news  as  ought  to  make 
a  maiden  weep,  you  say,  and  yet  what 
base  political  ends  have  not  been  served 
through  the  holy  offices  of  the  marriage 
service.    And  when  a  suit  bears  the  ap- 


ii3 


HIGH    NOON 

probation  of  one's  sovereign,  is  it  not 
more  nearly  a  command? 

The  cousin  of  our  beautiful  Natalie, 
one  Prince  Boris  Ivanovitch,  had  long 
been  a  persistent  suitor.  What  booted 
it  that  she  would  have  none  of  his  atten- 
tions? Was  he  not  an  heir  apparent,  and 
should  a  girl's  whim,  her  likes  or  dislikes, 
stand  in  the  way  of  a  powerful  union? 
The  Tsar  of  all  the  Russias  had  given 
him  official  sanction;  to  Prince  Boris, 
and  alas!  to  Natalie,  the  ceremony  was  as 
good  as  performed. 

But  what  of  the  desires  of  her  own  ten- 
der girlish  heart,  her  hopes,  her  sacred 
mission?  Were  all  to  be  sacrificed  on  the 
altar  of  a  great  political  alliance?  Na- 
talie cast  herself  on  a  divan  in  a  paroxysm 
of  grief  and  rage,  and  the  imperial  note, 
heavy  with  a  gold  crest  and  seals,  flut- 
tered in  tiny  pieces  on  the  floor.    In  vain 


1*4 


HIGH    NOON 

her  maid  essayed  to  comfort  her.  This 
latest  blow  was  too  heavy.  Why  did 
Boris  not  let  her  give  him  the  vast  estates, 
why  must  he  insist  upon  her? — her  love 
he  never  had,  never  could  have.  Once 
more  the  couch  shook  with  her  choking 
sobs. 

After  the  first  dreadful  shock  was 
over,  Natalie  calmed  herself,  and  the  in- 
nate strength,  the  quiet  determination 
which  had  carried  her  so  far  on  her  mis- 
sion asserted  itself.  She  would  obey — the 
thought  of  disobedience  cannot  come  to 
faithful  subjects — but  there  was  no  haste. 
Time  can  accomplish  much. 

Then,  as  the  events  of  the  past  few 
days  flitted  before  her  mental  vision 
there  crept  into  her  cheeks  a  faint  tinge 
of  colour  as  she  thought  of  Paul.  "Ah, 
my  beloved — yes,  beloved,  though  you 
know  it  not.    I  must  see  you  once  more." 


"5 


]HIGH    NOON 

And  the  sudden  memory  of  the  hour 
when  she  last  saw  him  so  eager,  so  loving, 
all  the  fine  lines  of  his  virile  strength 
thrown  on  the  black  screen  of  darkness, 
by  the  light  of  the  burning  summer  house, 
mantled  her  cheek  anew  in  crimson. 

He  of  all  the  men  she  had  ever  seen 
was  the  one  most  worth  loving.  And  then 
in  confusion  again  at  this  admission,  deep 
though  it  was  in  her  thoughts,  she  dis- 
missed her  maid  and  curling  up  before 
the  fire  set  her  woman's  wit  to  match  the 
machinations  of  her  greedy  relation. 

And  as  she  pondered,  she  smiled.  If 
she  had  acted  on  a  sudden  impulse  once, 
she  felt  that  she  could  be  deliberate  now. 
Having  been  somewhat  indiscreet  in  the 
rustic  tea-house,  with  a  woman's  incon- 
sistency she  was  determined  to  veer  to  a 
course  of  conduct  exactly  opposite. 

She  felt  too  well  her  power  to  draw 

116 


HIGH    NOON 

Paul  to  her — indeed,  what  woman  does 
not  know  her  own  capability  to  attract? 
And  here  was  an  opportunity  to  gain 
a  brief  respite  from  the  grim  path 
on  which  her  destiny  seemed  to  be  leading 
her.    She  would  see  him  again. 

Her  bright  eyes  roved  to  the  dainty 
table  near  at  hand.  She  picked  up  a  per- 
fumed note,  and  read  it  again,  and  as 
she  read,  a  happier  look  smoothed  away 
the  sharp  lines  of  mental  anguish  which 
had  marked  the  beautiful  face  but  a  short 
time  before.  The  crested  sheet  bore  the 
address  of  the  Dalmatian  Embassy  in 
Paris,  and  was*  from  the  lovable  old 
Countess  Oreshefski,  whose  husband  was 
the  honoured  Ambassador. 

"My  dearest  little  Natalie,"  the  cordial 
note  of  invitation  began,  and  concluded 
with  a  reassurance  that  the  Countess  ex- 


117 


HIGH    NOON 

pected  her  on  the  ninth  of  May,  without 
fail. 

Yes — the  ninth  of  May — that  was  to- 
morrow. The  Comtesse  was  insistent, 
and  the  Ambassador  himself  had  charged 
his  spouse  to  invite  her.  Very  well !  She 
would  be  there. 

And  Mademoiselle  Vseslavitch  called 
her  maid  and  gave  her  instructions  to  be 
ready  to  leave  for  Paris  by  the  morning 
train. 

The  next  day  the  little  cafe  across  the 
street  from  the  humble  Hotel  de  la  Re- 
publique  was  the  richer  by  a  generous 
gold  piece,  and  the  rubicund  proprietaire 
marvelled  to  his  equally  rubicund  wife 
over  the  peculiar  habits  of  the  English- 
man, who  preferred  to  drink  much  black 
coffee  and  smoke  many  black  cigars  sit- 
ting at  the  little  table  in  the  doorway, 

118 


HIGH    NOON 

rather  than  see  the  beautiful  cathedral, 
as  did  ail  the  other  tourists. 

Finally,  Paul,  impatient  at  his  length- 
vigil,  elicited  the  information,  so  mucli 
desired  and  yet  so  disappointing,  that  a 
grand e  dame,  for  surely  she  must  be  such 
to  have  so  many  servants,  had  honoured 
the  humble  hotel  across  the  way  by  her 
presence  for  a  brief  twenty-four  hours 
and  only  that  morning  had  taken  the  train 
for  Nice. 

After  this  bit  of  information,  mingled 
with  much  more  voluble,  mine  host  had 
further  occasion  to  remark  on  the  strange 
actions  of  "these  English."  For  Paul's 
sudden  departure  cut  short  what  the  land- 
lord considered  a  really  capable  flight  of 
oratory  on  his  beloved  cathedral. 


JXQ 


CHAPTER  XI 

PAUL  did  not  reach  Nice  in  a  par- 
ticularly pleasant  mood.  He  knew 
that  the  task  of  finding  the  lady 
was  much  less  simple  than  it  had  been  at 
Langres.  But  he  made  a  thorough  search 
through  the  visitors'  lists  of  all  the  hotels. 

His  persistence,  however,  found  no  re- 
ward. He  could  find  no  trace  of  Made- 
moiselle Vseslavitch  whatever. 

He  had  been  in  Nice  two  days,  and  his 
unsuccessful  search  began  to  tell  upon  his 
nerves.  Realizing  the  need  of  relaxation 
of  some  sort — some  diversion  which 
might  for  the  time  being,  turn  his  mind 
upon  trivial  things — he  decided  to  spend 
an  evening  at  Monte  Carlo. 

Paul  was  no  great  gambler — it  was  a 


121 


HIGH    NOON 

sport  in  which  he  had  never  taken  more 
than  a  passing  interest,  but  just  then  he 
thought  it  would  serve  his  purpose. 

He  found  himself  after  dinner  there- 
fore in  the  Casino  at  Monte  Carlo,  in  a 
room  flooded  with  light  and  with  many 
people  present — a  quiet  room  for  all  that, 
for  there  was  little  sound  except  the  mo- 
notonous cry  of  croupiers  and  the  sharp 
rattle  of  a  ricochetting  roulette  ball. 

As  his  eyes  grew  accustomed  to  the 
light  he  stepped  forward  into  the  room, 
only  to  stand  still  again  and  remain  mo- 
tionless, as  though  turned  to  stone. 

For  there,  at  a  long  table  in  the  centre 
of  the  room,  with  piles  of  gold  and  notes 
before  her,  heavily  veiled,  sat — Made- 
moiselle Vseslavitch. 

A  little  cry  which  Paul  could  not  pre- 
vent breaking  from  his  lips  drew  the  eyes 
of  all  upon  him.     Mademoiselle  herself 


122 


HIGH    NOON 

glanced  up  and  saw  his  gaze  upon  her. 

She  started  and  instantly  Paul  turned 
away  and  endeavoured  to  hide  himself 
amid  the  odd  jumble  of  men  who  stood 
round  the  table  watching  the  play. 

"What  was  she  doing  here?"  Paul 
thought.  A  thousand  bewildering  con- 
jectures flashed  into  his  brain,  only  to 
prove  inadequate. 

Try  as  he  might  he  could  not  recon- 
cile the  so  obvious  fact  that  she  was  a  lady 
with  the  peculiar  incidents  which  trod 
hard  upon  each  other's  heels.  He  recalled 
the  meeting  with  the  strange  Frenchman, 
which  still  remained  a  most  baffling  mys- 
tery. 

Unconsciously,  Paul  took  note  of  the 
men  who  hemmed  the  table  in.  Every 
type  of  face  presented  itself — the  fleshy 
cheeks  of  middle-aged  Jews,  of  pale 
clerks  and  salesmen,  prosperous-looking 


123 


HIGH    NOON 

men  who  might  have  been  commercial 
travellers,  and  here  and  there  a  more  re- 
fined-looking man  in  evening-dress. 

A  few  were  still  playing,  but  the  ma- 
jority were  watching  the  fortunes  of  the 
veiled  lady.  She  was,  besides,  the  only 
woman  in  the  room. 

Paul  stood  for  a  few  moments  and 
watched  her  play.  Nor  was  it  difficult, 
even  to  his  unpracticed  eye,  to  see  that 
she  had  begun  to  wage  a  losing  fight 
against  the  bank. 

Draped  in  a  long  opera  cloak  from 
which  her  bare  arms  were  thrust,  she  sat 
forward  eagerly  in  her  chair,  her  lips 
trembling,  her  eyes  bright  as  stars. 

Her  face  and  figure  were  in  extraordi- 
nary contrast  to  her  surroundings. 

Every  man  in  the  room,  Paul  thought, 
appeared  to  feel  that  he  was  in  the  pres- 
ence of  one  who  not  only  had  the  right, 


124 


HIGH    NOON 

but  the  power,  to  command  respect,  and 
|he  coarse  faces  by  which  she  was  sur- 
rounded surveyed  her  with  a  certain 
(deference. 

As  the  game  went  on  and  the  croupier 
monotonously  raked  in  the  winnings  of 
the  bank,  Paul  suddenly  divined  the  mo- 
tive which  had  induced  the  lady  to  come 
there.  Undoubtedly  it  was  the  hope  that 
she  might  win  enough  to  satisfy  the  cruel 
demands  of  those  who  persecuted  her. 

Quite  evidently  disturbed  by  his  en- 
trance, for  the  next  few  minutes  she  had 
apparently  lost  all  track  of  the  successful 
theory  which  she  had  been  following, 
^nd  Paul  knew  well  enough  that  if  a 
good  player  once  becomes  unnerved,  his 
luck,  for  some  strange  reason,  will  change 
with  his  mood,  and  no  efforts,  however 
bold  or  desperate,  will  avail  him  any- 
thing. 


125 


HIGH    NOON 

It  amazed  Verdayne  beyond  measure 
that  the  lady  could  play  such  a  game 
with  so  consummate  a  skill  and  so  much 
evidence  of  experience.  He  judged  that 
at  some  time  or  other  she  had  had  a  little 
fling  at  Monte  Carlo,  and  that  profiting 
by  such  knowledge  as  she  had  acquired 
before,  she  had  now  been  playing  an  in- 
spired game  for  some  incalculable  stake. 

If  she  won  against  the  bank  it  would 
release  her  from  her  torment;  no  other 
theory  was  possible. 

It  made  his  heart  grow  cold  with  rage 
as  he  appreciated  that  he  had  been  made 
the  innocent  instrument  of  such  a  hard 
experience  for  her. 

So  convinced  did  he  become  of  this 
fact  that  he  shouldered  his  way  through 
the  crowd,  and  leaning  over  her  chair, 
whispered  into  her  ear: 

"Don't  be  alarmed.     I  see  you  have 

126 


HIGH    NOON 

been  greatly  upset.  Please  allow  me  to 
assist  you." 

The  man  at  her  right  hand  scowled 
angrily,  but  Paul  turned  to  him  with  an 
urbane  smile.  "As  you  do  not  seem  to 
be  playing,"  he  said,  "perhaps  you  will 
allow  me  to  have  your  chair?" 

Nor  had  the  man  any  alternative  but 
to  vacate  his  seat. 

Paul's  spirits  rose  as  for  the  first  time 
in  his  life  he  found  himself  seated  by  the 
lady's  side,  playing  on  her  behalf,  to  win 
a  desperate  game. 

But  the  girl's  inspiration  was  gone,  and 
Paul's  knowledge  of  this  form  of  gam- 
bling availed  him  nothing.  Time  after 
time  they  lost  until  practically  nothing 
remained  of  the  great  pile  of  money 
wThich  had  been  stacked  on  the  table  be- 
fore her  when  he  had  entered  the  room. 


127 


HIGH    NOON 

The  girl  watched  the  money  dwindle 
with  every  evidence  of  consternation. 

Paul  sought  to  console  her. 

"Don't  despair,"  he  whispered.  "I 
think  I  have  enough  with  me  to  see  us 
through." 

When  he  had  at  first  sat  down  to  assist 
her  she  had  stared  at  him  with  consider- 
able astonishment.  Now  she  appeared 
utterly  confused. 

"I  don't  understand,"  she  said  in  a  low 
voice.  "You  have  certainly  done  your 
best  to  help  me,  but  I  cannot  see  why 
you  wish  me  to  win." 

Paul  turned  and  looked  her  full  in  the 
eyes. 

"How  long  will  it  be,"  he  asked  in  a 
low  voice,  "before  you  come  to  trust 
me?" 

Without  further  word  he  drew  from 
his  pocket  the  liberal  supply  of  bank- 

128 


HIGH    NOON 

•otes  with  which  he  had  prepared  him- 
self for  hi9  evening's  play,  and  laid  them 
on  the  table  before  his  astonished  com- 
panion. 

As  this  little  scene  had  attracted  moie 
attention  from  those  about  him  than 
pleased  Verdayne,  he  indicated  with  a 
slight  nod  to  the  croupier  to  proceed,  and 
calmly  placed  a  pile  of  gold  pieces  of 
large  denomination  on  the  green  double 
nought. 

The  wheel  spun.  The  ball  clicked 
slower  and  slower.  The  gaming  spirit 
of  the  devotees  once  more  claimed  them 
and  the  veiled  lady  and  her  chivalrous 
escort  were  forgotten  in  the  interest  cen- 
tered on  the  little  ivory  sphere. 

Slower  and  slower  and  slower  it  ran, 
until  it  settled  in  place  with  a  last  click. 

The  company  drew  a  mingled  long 
breath.    The  monotonous  sing-song  voice 


129 


HIGH    NOON 

of  the  croupier  chanted,  "Twenty-six  and 
the  black  wins/'  and  he  raked  away  the 
stake  from  before  the  veiled  lady. 

Paul's  face  never  changed,  nor  did  the 
lady  speak.  Once  more  the  gold  was 
piled,  and  once  more  raked  away.  The 
other  players,  forgetting  the  strange  en- 
trance of  the  lady's  champion,  were  now 
absorbed  in  following  his  failing  for- 
tune. 

Agan  and  again  Paul  lost,  until  finally 
the  last  of  the  generous  pile  was  swept 
away.  With  a  truly  stoical  British  smile 
Paul  reached  for  his  cheque  book,  and 
glanced  about  him  for  some  one  who 
possibly  could  identify  him.  But  the 
lady  rose  from  the  table  with  a  little 
gasp  and  steadied  herself  with  her  hands 
on  the  back  of  her  chair. 

At  the  same  moment  the  door  by  which 
Paul  had  entered  opened  again,  and  in 


130 


HIGH    NOON 

there  came  two  gentlemen  in  evening 
dress.  A  third  man  followed  closely  be- 
hind them,  and  a  flush  of  irritation  crept 
up  the  back  of  Paul's  neck  as  he  recog- 
nized Schwartzberger. 

The  room  was  quite  hushed.  The  men 
about  the  table  had  been  awed  by  the 
vast  sum  of  money  which  the  mysterious 
lady  had  staked  and  lost. 

As  she  moved  a  step  forward  as  though 
to  go,  they  drew  aside  to  give  her  free 
passage,  so  that  now  she  found  herself 
face  to  face  with  the  men  who  had  just 
entered. 

Looking  over  her  head,  Paul  saw  the 
pork-packer  glance  quickly  at  him,  his 
face  a  complete  study  in  astonishment. 
He  bowed  to  the  lady,  but  said  nothing. 
It  was  Paul  who  spoke. 

"This  is  most  unfortunate,"  he  said. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  asked  the  lady. 


131 


HIGH    NOON 

"Your  loss,"  said  Paul  hastily.  "This 
is  no  fit  place  for  you  to  remain  in.  Al- 
low me  to  show  you  the  way  out  at  once." 

He  thrust  himself  between  her  and  the 
two  men  who  had  entered,  whereupon 
Schwartzberger  burst  forth  in  an  angry 
voice  that  was  perfectly  audible  to  all. 

"You  damned  British  hypocrite!"  he 
roared.  His  face  was  purple  and  he 
seemed  suddenly  to  become  inarticulate 
with  rage. 

Paul  pushed  the  baize-covered  door 
open  and  first  bowed  the  lady  out 

"Mademoiselle,"  he  said,  in  a  formal 
voice,  "you  will  greatly  oblige  me  by 
stepping  to  the  other  end  of  the  passage. 
I  have  something  to  say  to  these  gentle- 
men." 

Making  a  little  inclination  with  her 
head,  the  lady  walked  slowly  away,  leav- 
ing  Paul    to   confront   Schwartzberger. 


132 


HIGH    NOON 

And  Paul  by  no  means  minced  matters. 

"Pardon  me,"  he  said,  facing  about 
once  more^  "but  your  assistance  is  not  re- 
quired. You  will  be  kind  enough  to  call 
on  me  at  the  Hotel  Metropole  to-morrow 
morning,  when  I  shall  ask  you  for  an  ex- 
planation. Till  then  I  have  no  further 
need  of  you."  And  he  turned  and  passed 
through  the  door,  leaving  the  man  once 
more  speechless. 

With  a  few  steps  Paul  reached  the 
lady,  who  was  waiting  for  him.  As  he 
approached  she  turned  to  him,  lifting 
the  heavy  veil  which  had  hid  her  fea- 
tures, and  then,  leaning  toward  her  in 
the  subdued  light  of  the  passage-way, 
Paul  gazed  with  amazement  into  the 
face  of — the  Comtesse  de  Boistelle. 


133 


CHAPTER  XII 

THERE  come  times  in  every  one's 
life  when  explanations,  even  if 
one  might  give  them,  are  useless. 
And  Sir  Paul  Verdayne  realized  that 
fact  to  its  fullest  when  he  faced  the  quasi 
Countess  in  the  Casino  vestibule. 

What  unhappy  inspiration  had  caused 
her  to  dress  herself  in  a  manner  almost 
identical  with  that  in  which  Mademoi- 
selle Vseslavitch  had  appeared  at  Lu- 
cerne? Mentally,  Paul  roundly  damned 
a  score  of  times  the  imitative  instinct  of 
the  sex.  He  could  not  forgive  himself 
for  having  mistaken  a  person  of  the 
Comtesse's  stamp  for  the  lady  whom  he 
had  sought. 

But  there  the  Comtesse  stood.     And 


135 


HIGH    NOON 

Paul  was  conscious  that  in  the  glance  she 
bent  on  him  there  was  more  than  amaze- 
ment at  his  Quixotic  replenishing  of  her 
vanished  fortunes.  In  the  excitement  of 
the  losing  play,  she  had  no  thought  of 
the  motive  which  might  have  prompted 
Paul's  act.  Now  that  it  was  done,  she 
had  instantly  decided,  after  the  manner 
of  her  kind,  that  it  was  a  tremendous  bid 
for  her  favour.  And  the  unconcern  with 
which  such  a  sum  had  been  placed  at  her 
disposal  appealed  to  just  such  a  tempera- 
ment as  hers. 

The  Comtesse  de  Boistelle  was  aot  one 
to  place  too  low  a  value  upon  her  own 
attractiveness.  The  attentions  lavished 
on  her  by  her  porcine  American  admirer 
had  lacked  the  artistic  touch  of  this 
coup  of  the  English  nobleman,  and  she 
was  willing  to  capitulate  on  the  spot  ia 
favour  of  the  latter. 


136 


HIGH    NOON 

All  this — and  more — Paul  read  in  the 
warm,  admiring  glance  of  the  Comtesse 
which  met  his  astonished  gaze.  The 
horrible  futility  of  any  attempt  at  ex- 
planation struck  a  chill  to  his  heart,  and 
started  the  perspiration  on  his  forehead. 
Flight,  ignominious  flight,  seemed  the 
only  escape,  and  yet  at  this,  the  sturdy 
British  spirit  of  Sir  Paul  rebelled.  A 
flash  of  inspiration — a  memory  from  his 
school-days,  came  to  mind,  as  he  groped 
for  a  plan,  in  the  line  from  Virgil,  "In  the 
middle  way  lies  safety." 

With  a  bow  whose  courtesy  was  irre- 
proachable, Paul  spoke  first: 

"Permit  me  to  send  you  to  your  hotel, 
fair  partner  of  a  losing  venture."  He 
smiled  grimly  at  the  unconscious  truth  in 
his  chance  phrase.  "To-morrow  may 
give  me  the  great  pleasure  of  a  further 


137 


HIGH    NOON 

acquaintance — and  under  less  depressing 
circumstances." 

Then,  before  the  Comtesse  could  quite 
marshal  her  vocabulary  to  reply  in  a  fit- 
ting manner,  Paul  had  bowed  her 
through  the  great  entrance;  the  door  of 
the  carriage  shut,  and  she  was  driven 
away. 

The  uncomfortable  sense  of  having 
made  a  thorough-going  ass  of  himself 
was  not  conducive  to  sound  slumber  on 
the  part  of  Sir  Paul  that  night.  Nor  did 
it  aid  in  preserving  his  temper  during  the 
unpleasant  scene  the  following  morning 
when  Schwartzberger,  still  furious  with 
rage,  called  at  the  hotel. 

It  was  a  relief,  however,  to  Paul  to 
have  some  object  on  which  to  vent  his 
pent-up  feelings,  and  if  the  pork-packer 
did  not  quite  understand  all  that  he  said, 


138 


HIGH    NOON 

Paul  at  least  left  no  mistake  in  Schwartz- 
berger's  mind  as  to  the  total  lack  of 
grounds  for  the  latter's  jealousy,  and 
filled  him  with  a  proper  awe  of  the  wrath 
of  an  Englishman  once  aroused. 

Paul  realized  that  by  the  time  she  met 
Schwartzberger,  if  not  before,  the  Com- 
tesse  would  discover  the  veiled  emphasis 
on  mere  probability  in  his  parting  sug- 
gestion as  to  any  future  meeting.  So  he 
was  not  surprised  to  see  the  tonneau  of 
the  big  green  motor  car  with  its  custom- 
ary occupants  whirling  past  him  as  he 
drove  to  the  station  that  afternoon. 

Well!  the  unbelievable  faux  pas  which 
he  had  committed — thanks  to  chance  and 
his  own  imbecility — had  turned  him 
from  his  search.  He  no  longer  had  the 
heart  to  linger  about  Nice  peering  into 
strange    ladies'    faces.     The    Lord    only 


139 


HIGH    NOON 

knew  what  blunder  he  would  make  next 
if  he  continued  to  look  for  her  there! 


liO 


CHAPTER  XIII 

WHEN  Paul  stepped  down  from 
a  railway-carriage  in  the  Gare 
de  l'Est  in  Paris  two  days  later, 
his  language  had  improved  slightly.  But 
he  was  still  cursing  himself  for  a  consum- 
mate ass. 

Baxter,  who  had  received  instructions 
to  meet  him,  relieved  him  of  his  travel- 
ling bag,  and  a  taximeter  cab,  whisking 
him  quickly  to  the  Place  Vendome,  soon 
deposited  him  at  the  Hotel  du  Rhin. 

As  for  the  Russian  lady,  Paul  was  a  bit 
discouraged  over  the  adventure.  Langres 
and  Paris  were  two  entirely  different 
places.  What  chance  had  he  of  finding 
her  here? 

He  confessed  to  himself  that  it  was 


141 


HIGH    NOON 

not  a  promising  undertaking,  yet  sooner 
or  later  everyone  came  to  Paris.  Here  he 
was,  and  here  would  he  stay,  for  a  time  at 
least.  Perhaps, — who  knew? — he  might 
find  her  more  easily  than  he  dared  hope. 
And  from  his  apartments  he  looked  out 
over  the  tree-tops. 

The  sight  of  miles  and  miles  of  chim- 
ney pots  were  not  at  all  reassuring. 

"Well!  I'll  never  find  her,  mooning 
away  up  here/'  he  thought.  "I'll  go 
down  to  dinner — and  then  for  a  plan  of 
action." 

That  night  he  went  to  the  theatre,  but 
his  thoughts  were  not  for  the  elegantly 
gowned  daughters  of  respectable  bour- 
geoises who  disported  themselves  for  his 
amusement.  What  if  they  did  play  the 
parts  of  grand  duchesses  better  than  those 
great  ladies  themselves  know  how?  Only 
one   woman   on    earth    interested    Paul. 


14.2 


HIGH    NOON 

And — confound  his  luck! — he  did  not 
know  where  in  this  great  town  he  could 
find  her. 

Our  Paul  was  not  in  a  particularly 
pleasant  frame  of  mind  when  he  strolled 
out  upon  the  pavement — not  waiting  even 
for  the  piece  to  end. 

Another  hour  spent  at  a  boulevard 
table  impressed  him  as  the  height  of  stu- 
pidity. He  chafed  under  the  enforced 
inaction  of  the  situation.  "How  many 
more  wasted  hours  must  he  endure?"  he 
asked  himself. 

He  saw  them  slowly  stretching  out  be- 
fore him — days  into  months — months  in- 
to years — years  into  eternity.  Ah  I  God! 
that  must  not  be! 

And  while  Paul  was  wondering,  specu- 
lating over  what  seemed  well-nigh  im- 
possible, the  lights  of  the  Dalmatian  Em- 


H3 


HIGH    NOON 

bassy  in  the  Faubourg  St.  Germain 
gleamed  brightly  out  upon  the  asphalt 
pavement. 

In  a  sitting  room  on  one  of  the  upper 
floors  sat  Natalie  Vseslavitch  and  the 
wife  of  the  Ambassador.  The  guests  of 
the  evening  had  gone,  and  they  were  hav- 
ing one  of  those  little,  intimate  ante-retir- 
ing chats  so  dear  to  the  hearts  of  all 
women. 

"Now,  my  dear,"  the  elder  lady  was 
saying,  "I  insist  that  it  is  high  time  you 
were  married.  It  is  ridiculous  for  a 
charming  girl  like  you  to  take  the  stand 
you  have.  Let  me  see — you're  thirty  now 
— and  not  a  single  man  will  you  encour- 
age—scarcely tolerate — except  a  few 
grey-beards  like  my  own  good  husband." 

Natalie  feigned  gay  laughter,  though 
a  bitter  pang  shot  through  her  heart  at 

144 


HIGH    NOON 

the  unconscious  stab  of  the  good  Coun- 
tess. 

"Just  because  you  fell  in  love,"  she  re- 
plied, "you  expect  me  to  do  the  same  at 
will.  I  repeat  to  you,  as  to  all  the  rest, 
I  would  not  give  a  kopeck  for  any  man  I 
have  ever  met.  Pouff  they  do  not  inter- 
est me.  Look  I  my  adored  one,  I  warn 
you  that  I  shall  prove  a  most  intractable 
guest  if  you  attempt  to  inveigle  me  into 
any  alliance.  Ah  I  you  look  guilty  al- 
ready! You  see,  I  know  you  of  old,  you 
dear  maker  of  marriages !" 

The  Countess  reddened  slightly  at  the 
charge,  but  laughed  away  her  momen- 
tary embarrassment.  It  was  true  her  in- 
terest in  her  young  companion  had  led 
her  to  manage  rencontres  with  various 
eligibles  of  the  Countess's  acquaintance, 
and  she  had  already  in  mind  two  or  three 


145 


HIGH    NOON 

new  possibilities — men  prominent  in  the 
younger  diplomatic  set. 

"Ah,  well!  you  pretty  little  incorrig- 
ible!" the  Countess  sighed,  "some  day 
you  will  thank  your  dear  old  friend  for 
sheltering  you  under  the  wings  of  her  ex- 
perience." 

And  thus  they  said  good-night  affec- 
tionately and  parted — Madame  to  plan 
some  new  way  of  entrapping  her  charm- 
ing friend  into  matrimony;  Natalie  to 
fall  into  a  deep  study  as  she  prepared  for 
the  night. 

The  subject  of  her  thoughts,  she  felt 
sure,  could  no  longer  be  in  Langres. 
Fortunately,  one  can  shift  his  thought- 
scenes  around  the  world  in  a  twinkling. 
Paul,  on  the  other  hand,  had  spent  some 
seven  dragging  hours  on  his  journey  to 
Paris. 


146 


HIGH    NOON 

The  next  morning  as  she  glanced  over 
the  columns  of  the  Matin,  the  Countess 
exclaimed : 

"Voila!  Sir  Paul  Verdayne  is  at  the 
Hotel  du  Rhin.  You  are  too  young  to 
have  known  him,  my  dear.  Those  sad 
years  you  were  fortunately  away  at  the 
Convent."  And  the  kind-hearted  old 
lady's  eyes  filled  at  the  remembrance  of 
Paul's  sad  story.  "A  charming  man,  truly. 
I  shall  send  him  a  note  at  once,  asking 
him  to  dine  with  us  to-night — we  need 
one  more,  and  he  is  the  very  person.  It 
is  some  years  since  I  have  seen  him,  but 
in  London  he  came  often  to  the  Em- 
bassy." 

The  elder  lady  did  not  perceive  the 
somewhat  startled  look  on  the  face  of 
Mademoiselle  Vseslavitch. 

"I  shall  have  him  take  you  in  to  din- 
ner, my  dear,"  she  continued.     "He  is 


H7 


HIGH    NOON 

most  charming  company  when  he  wishes 
to  be,  I  assure  you." 

"Oh,  Countess,  no !"  the  young  woman 
cried.  "Let  some  one  else  have  your 
wonderful  Englishman.  Good  old  Baron 
Lancret  will  amuse  me  sufficiently,  my 
dear." 

"Ah,  but  no.  The  dear  soul  has  grown 
quite  deaf  since  you  last  saw  him.  I  can 
not  think  of  allowing  it.  Be  a  good  child 
now.  This  is  no  plot.  Sir  Paul  is  an  in- 
curable misogynist — the  only  man  I 
know  who  would  not  fall  in  love  with 
you.  See!  your  old  friend  is  doing  her 
best  to  provide  you  with  an  ideal  dinner- 
partner.  What  more  could  you  wish?  It 
is  settled." 

And  a  servant  was  promptly  dis- 
patched to  the  Hotel  du  Rhin. 

"Do  the  Count  and  myself  the  favor  to 
148 


HIGH    NOON 

dine  with  us  this  evening,"  Paul  read 
when  he  opened  the  note.  "You  will  not 
have  forgotten  your  old  friends  of  a  half- 
dozen  years  ago?  We  shall  be  charmed 
to  see  you  again — and  I  shall  expect  you 
without  fail." 

Well,  he  had  no  engagement  for  that 
night — and  Paul  sent  back  a  polite  note 
of  acceptance.  He  remembered  many 
pleasant  functions  that  he  had  attended  in 
years  past  at  the  Dalmatian  Embassy  in 
London.  After  all,  he  had  to  do  some- 
thing. He  could  not  go  about  searching 
for  the  vanished  lady  every  moment  of 
the  day  and  night.  That  much  distrac- 
tion, at  least,  he  .would  allow  himself. 

It  was  now  eleven  o'clock.  He 
would  wait  until  dejeuner  was  over,  and 
then  he  would  go  out  somewhere — any- 
where— so  long  as  there  were  moving 
crowds  of  people  to  furnish  some  chance 


149 


HIGH    NOON 

of  his  meeting  her  again.  Next  time, 
without  fail,  he  would  manage  a  conver- 
sation. 

That  afternoon  then  he  stepped  out 
of  the  hotel  and  engaged  a  fiacre — a 
taximeter  would  be  of  no  use,  Paul 
thought.  Tearing  through  the  streets  at 
break-neck  speed  annihilated  distance 
rather  than  time.  He  told  the  driver  to 
take  him  anywhere  he  pleased,  and  leaned 
back  listlessly  as  he  was  piloted  slowly 
through  the  avenues. 

Paris,  beautiful  Paris,  always  intoxi- 
cated Paul.  He  had  not  cared  for  it 
when  he  was  younger.  But  in  those  days 
he  was  less  cosmopolitan  than  now.  Our 
insular  John  Bull  sees  nothing  outside 
our  own  tight  little  island.  But  to  Paul 
an  awakening  had  come.  Since  those 
wonderful  weeks  he  had  known  in  Switz- 
erland and  Venice — now  long  years  ago 


*5° 


HIGH    NOON 

— he  had  looked  out  upon  the  world  with 
different  eyes.  The  pulsating  life  of  the 
streets  quickened  his  own  blood. 

"To  the  Bois  de  Boulogne!"  he  direct- 
ed the  cocker,  finally,  and  soon  they 
swung  into  the  gay  stream  that  flowed 
down  the  Avenue  du  Bois  de  Boulogne 
toward  the  most  wonderful  pleasure 
ground  in  the  world. 


I5i 


CHAPTER  XIV 

PAUL  found  the  Bois  as  beautiful  as 
ever,  with  its  lakes  and  rippling 
streams  hidden  away  in  the  for- 
ests. But  he  was  conscious  of  a  feeling 
of  solitude  as  he  rode  along  among  the 
hundreds  upon  hundreds  of  jangling 
equipages. 

All  the  world  was  there  it  seemed  to 
Paul.  Grande  dames  there  were,  with 
gorgeous  footmen  on  the  box;  and  ele- 
gant little  victorias  containing  wonder- 
fully gowned  demoiselles.  Paul  recog- 
nized one  of  the  latter  as  a  lady  who  had 
caused  the  disruption  of  a  kingdom. 
There  were  less  conspicuous  carriages, 
too,  whose  occupants  seemed  to  be  having 
the   best   time   of    all — whole    families, 


153 


HIGH    NOON 

there,  with  father  and  mother  and  laugh- 
ing children. 

Suppose  the  lady  were  somewhere  in 
that  wonderful  throng  of  pleasure-seek- 
ers? In  what  fashion  would  she  drive 
abroad? 

"God  knows,"  he  muttered  hoarsely  to 
himself,  "who  or  what  she  may  be. 
Princess  or  lady's  maid,  I  must  find  her." 

So  he  rode  on  through  the  limitless 
Bois,  that  wonderful  wilderness  of  green 
trees  and  country  pleasures,  of  fetes  and 
promenades. 

At  last  they  turned  into  the  Route  de 
Suresnes,  which  soon  led  them  to  the  Lac 
Superieur.  There  Paul  dismissed  his 
cocker,  for  he  had  a  fancy  to  stroll  along 
the  borders  of  the  lake. 

The  banks  were  alive  with  boys  and 
girls  running  about  like  young  savages, 
to  the  distraction  of  their  nurses.     Paul 


154 


HIGH    NOON 

threaded  his  way  among  them  contented- 
ly, for  he  loved  children  and  had  all  too 
little  opportunity  to  be  with  them.  He 
stood  for  a  time  and  watched  with  much 
amusement  a  game  of  blind-man's-buff — 
colin-maillard  the  little  beggars  called  it, 
but  if  the  name  was  different,  the  play 
was  the  same  that  Paul  had  known  in  his 
own  boyhood  at  Verdayne  Place. 

Many  fine  ships  were  sailing  along  the 
lake's  shore,  navigated  by  brave  mariners 
of  eight  and  ten.  Paul  had  just  turned 
away  from  watching  one  spirited  race 
when  a  scream  arrested  his  attention.  At 
first  he  saw  only  an  excited  group  gath- 
ered at  the  lake's  edge,  and  then  his  eye 
caught  sight  of  a  tell-tale  hat,  floating  on 
the  surface.  With  a  few  bounds  he  was 
in  the  water,  to  emerge  soon  with  a  little 
limp  body  in  his  arms.  He  laid  his  bur- 
den down  gently  on  the  pebbly  bank  and 


*55 


HIGH    NOON 

then  gave  place  to  a  man  who  pushed  his 
way  through  the  crowd  with  the  brisk 
professional  air  a  doctor  is  wont  to  as- 
sume. In  a  few  moments  the  sturdy  en- 
fant breathed  again. 

Paul  felt  anything  but  a  hero.  He  had 
never  been  wetter — and  moreover  he  had 
lost  his  hat.  It  would  be  a  wonder,  too, 
if  any  cocker  would  let  him  get  into  his 
carriage  with  the  water  running  off  him 
in  rivulets. 

He  was  standing  by  the  road-side  bar- 
gaining with  one  of  that  tribe  and  had 
nearly  exhausted  his  stock  of  dignified 
French  when  he  happened  to  glance  over 
his  shoulder  as  a  carriage  passed  close  by 
him.  Beneath  a  parasol  a  lady's  face 
stood  out  clearly  from  the  moving  maze 
around  him — her  face  again. 

The  smile  in  her  eyes  made  Paul  mad. 

He  thrust  a  twenty-franc  note  into  the 


i56 


HIGH    NOON 

hand  of  the  astonished  cocker,  and 
springing  into  the  cab  directed  the  man 
to  hurry  on. 

And  then  the  impossibility  of  the  situa- 
tion dawned  upon  him.  A  fine  sight 
he  was !  to  go  dashing  off  the  Lord  knew 
where  after  a  lady  he  did  not  know!  Such 
an  adventure  attempted  by  as  bedraggled 
a  cavalier  as  he,  might  easily  land  him  in 
a  police  station.  He  had  no  relish  for 
being  dragged  off  by  a  gendarme,  he  re- 
flected, and  even  if  that  should  not  occur, 
the  best  he  could  possibly  manage  would 
be  to  make  an  ass  of  himself.  And  he  had 
been  far  too  successful  in  that  line  once 
before. 

With  the  thought,  his  customary  sober 
judgment  returned. 

"L'Hotel  du  Rhin!"  he  shouted  sav- 
agely to  his  cocker,  and  with  one  last 
glance  at  the  back  of  the  carriage  ahead 


157 


HIGH    NOON 

(if  it  were  only  an  automobile! — then 
there' d  be  a  number  on  it!  he  thought) 
Paul  was  turned  sharply  around  and  car- 
ried toward  the  main  entrance  to  the 
Bois. 

Even  some  hours  later,  when  he  was 
ready  to  start  for  the  Dalmatian  Em- 
bassy, his  rage  had  not  cooled  greatly;  it 
was  therefore  in  a  tone  strangely  at  vari- 
ance with  his  unruffled  evening  dress 
that  he  directed  his  chauffeur.  As  for 
Baxter,  he  had  never  seen  his  master  in 
so  villainous  a  humour.  Indeed,  had  it 
not  been  for  an  uncommonly  pretty 
femme  de  chambre  in  the  hotel,  whose  ac- 
quaintance he  had  made  the  evening  be- 
fore, he  would  have  been  tempted  to  give 
his  employer  notice. 

"His  langwidge  was  somethink  dread- 

158 


HIGH    NOON 

ful!"  he  confided  to  her  after  Paul  had 
gone. 

The  pleasant  ride  through  the  Fau- 
bourg St.  Germain  served  to  mollify  Paul 
somewhat;  and  when  he  walked  up  to  the 
brilliantly  lighted  entrance,  where  a  re- 
splendent flunky  opened  the  massive 
doors  for  him,  he  was  more  himself 
again.  He  was  soon  greeting  his  host 
and  hostess,  whose  genuine  pleasure  at 
seeing  him  once  more  was  so  evident  that 
the  last  vestige  of  Paul's  ill-humour  van- 
ished before  their  welcoming  smiles. 

Presently  the  Countess  turned  to  Paul 
and  said: 

"Come I  I  want  to  present  you  to  a 
young  Russian  friend  of  mine  whom  you 
are  to  take  in  to  dinner,"  and  taking  his 
arm  she  led  him  into  an  adjoining  room. 

And  there  Paul  met  his  vision,  face  to 
face;  the  lady  of  his  quest. 


159 


CHAPTER   XV 

AT  first  Paul  could  hardly  believe  his 
senses.  He  was  conscious,  as  he 
gazed  into  the  depths  of  two 
marvellous  eyes,  of  a  tall  supple  figure  all 
in  black,  a  crimson  rose  in  her  dark  hair 
lending  a  touch  of  color — that,  and  her 
red  lips. 

This  was  the  face  that  had  burned  its 
lineaments  into  the  tablets  of  his  memory 
— the  face  so  sweetly  known  at  Lake  Lu- 
cerne. 

The  babble  of  the  arriving  guests — the 
strains  of  the  orchestra — became  as  the 
faint  murmurs  of  a  far  off  sea. 

For  Paul,  one  fact,  and  only  one,  exist- 
ed— it  was  she — his  Lady  of  the  Beaute- 
ous Countenance;  no  vision,  but  a  be- 

161 


HIGH    NOON 

witching  creature  of  flesh  and  blood 
whose  gloved  hand  rested  for  a  moment 
in  his  own. 

As  in  a  dream  Paul  heard  the  lady's 
name — the  same  that  he  had  learned 
at  Lucerne — and  he  felt  himself  mur- 
muring something — what  the  words  were 
he  scarcely  knew. 

Not  by  so  much  as  the  quiver  of  an 
eyelash  did  Mademoiselle  give  sign  of 
recognition,  or  memory  of  any  previous 
meeting.  She  merely  smiled  as  she  told 
Paul  that  her  old  friend  the  Countess  had 
often  spoken  of  him. 

His  heart  was  athrob  with  curious  emo- 
tions, when  he  heard  the  Countess'  voice : 

"Come!  we  are  going  in.  You  two  can 
become  better  acquainted  at  table."  And 
he  felt  his  partner's  arm  rest  lightly  with- 
in his ;  its  merest  touch  electrified  him. 

"Damn  the  dinner!"  Paul  swore  softly 

162 


HIGH    NOON 

to  himself,  for  he  had  no  wish  to  share  his 
good  fortune  with  a  roomful  of  people. 

To  his  great  disgust,  a  silly  ass  of  a 
young  German  attache,  who  sat  on  the 
other  side  of  Mademoiselle  Vseslavitch, 
began  talking  with  her  as  soon  as  they 
had  reached  their  places. 

When  Paul  did  have  her  to  himself  oc- 
casionally, she  talked  to  him  of  England, 
the  last  subject  he  was  interested  in  then. 
Not  for  a  minute  did  she  allow  him  an 
opportunity  to  lead  her  in  the  direction 
of  Langres  or  Lucerne. 

"I  have  never  been  across  the  Chan- 
nel," she  told  him.  "But  I  have  long 
wished  to  go.  You  English  are  such  a 
remarkable  people — you  are  all  so  sane 
and  sensible  compared  with  my  own 
countrymen.  What  Russian  can  talk  with 
a  woman  for  five  minutes  without  making 
violent    love    to    her? — but    you    cold- 

163 


HIGH    NOON 

blooded  Anglo-Saxons  are  so  refreshing- 
ly different." 

Paul  did  not  see  the  mischievous  mer- 
riment in  the  lady's  eyes.  And  his  gallant 
answer  was  interrupted  by  some  inanity 
from  Herr  von  Mark. 

If  ever  the  Anglo-German  diplomatic 
relations  were  in  danger,  an  observer 
would  have  promptly  decided  that  they 
they  were  at  that  instant.  That  the  con- 
ceited young  German  did  not  immedi- 
ately expire  was  only  due  to  the  fact  that 
dagger  glances  cannot  cause  a  fatal 
wound. 

Paul  tried  to  learn  more  about  the  lady. 
Was  she  to  be  long  in  Paris?  Really,  she 
could  not  say.  She  liked  the  country  so 
much  more  than  the  town  that  it  was  al- 
ways hard  for  her  to  stay  many  days  away 
from  the  open.  She  never  knew  when 
the  whim  might  seize  her  to  go — to  get 

164 


HIGH    NOON 

aboard  a  train  and  hurry  to  some  distant 
spot  which  she  felt  impelled  to  visit.  Who 
knew?  To-morrow,  perhaps,  might  find 
her  on  her  way  to  the  chateau  of  a  friend 
who  lived  in  the  Bukowina,  near  the  foot- 
hills of  the  Carpathian  Mountains. 

"Ah!" — and  she  turned  to  Paul  with  a 
radiant  face  that  made  him  long  to  catch 
her  in  his  arms — "do  you  know  that  won- 
derful country?  Those  fissured  peaks, 
with  their  precipitous  and  inaccessible 
crests — their  rock-cumbered  valleys,  con- 
cealing deep  and  lovely  lakes?  And  the 
beautiful  pine-woods  creeping  down  to 
the  foot  of  the  mountains?  I  could  spend 
all  my  life  in  that  wonderful  place,  living 
in  some  peasant's  hut,  if  need  be." 

"Tell  me  more!"  Paul  leaned  toward 
her,  forgetful  now  of  all  else  but  this 
divine  and  fascinating  being. 

i6S 


HIGH    NOON 

"Ah!"  she  breathed,  "you  are  a  devotee 
of  Nature,  too,  I  know.  You  are  a  great 
traveller, — the  Countess  has  said  it,"  she 
continued  quaintly.  "You  have  been 
around  the  whole  world.  While  as  for 
me,  I  know  Europe  only,  and  of  course 
Russia  best  of  all  countries.  I  have  seen 
much  of  her — those  wonderful  rolling 
steppes,  and  rugged  mountains.  The 
North  Sea,  too,  for  I  love  the  sea  as  my 
own  soul. 

"Often  do  I  feel  as  though  the  sea 
were  really  in  my  soul  itself.  And  as 
in  the  sea  there  are  hidden  water-plants, 
which  only  come  to  the  surface  at  the  mo- 
ment they  bloom,  and  sink  again  as  soon 
as  they  fade,  so  at  times  do  wondrous 
flower-pictures  form  in  the  depths  of  my 
soul,  and  rise  up,  shed  perfume  around, 
and  gleam  and  vanish.  .  .  Then  the  ships 
that  sail  by!    As  you  walk  along  the 

1 66 


HIGH    NOON 

shore,  is  it  not  a  pretty  sight  to  see  them 
— their  great  white  sails  look  like  stately 
swans.  And  still  more  beautiful  is  the 
sight  when  the  setting  sun  throws  great 
rays  of  glory  round  a  passing  bark." 

In  silence  Paul  gazed  at  her.  He 
hardly  breathed,  lest  some  banal  word 
should  frighten  this  wonderful  nymph 
away. 

"And  then  at  night," — she  went  on 
dreamily — "what  a  strange  and  mysteri- 
ous sensation  the  meeting  with  strange 
ships  at  sea  produces.  You  fancy  that 
perhaps  your  best  friends,  whom  you 
have  not  seen  for  years,  are  sailing  silent- 
ly by,  and  that  you  are  losing  them  for- 
evermore." 

Paul  was  strangely  moved.  He  loved 
the  sea  himself,  as  well  as  the  mountains 
— his  Queen  had  taught  him  its  call  years 
ago — and  he  often  wandered  about  the 

167 


HIGH    NOON 

shore,  pondering  over  the  strange  old 
legends  with  which  centuries  have 
wreathed  it. 

"You  are  wonderful!"  he  whispered  to 
the  lady.  "You're  like  some  water-maid- 
en— and  I  believe  your  eyes  are  a  bit  of 
the  sea  itself!" 

"Ah !  Now  you  are  like  all  the  rest — 
French  and  Russians  and  Germans!  Why 
spoil  my  rhapsody  with  personalities?" 

"Forgive  me!"  Paul  looked  sufficiently 
penitent,  and  Mademoiselle  with  a  play- 
ful gesture  of  absolution  spoke  again. 

"It  puts  me  in  a  strange  and  curious 
mood  when  I  ramble  along  the  shore  in 
the  twilight.  Behind  me  are  the  flat 
dunes,  before  me  the  vast,  heaving,  im- 
measurable ocean,  and  above  me  the  sky 
like  an  infinite  crystal  dome.  Then  I 
seem  to  be  a  very  insect ;  and  yet  my  soul 
expands  to  the  size  of  the  world.     The 

x.68 


HIGH    NOOK 

high  simplicity  of  Nature  which  sur- 
rounds me;  elevates  and  oppresses  me  at 
the  same  time,  more  so  than  any  other 
scene,  however  sublime.  There  never  was 
any  cathedral  dome  vast  enough  for  me." 

She  stopped  short,  as  if  suddenly  real- 
izing she  had  stumbled  upon  dangerous 
ground. 

And  at  that  moment  the  Countess 
picked  up  the  ladies  with  her  eyes  and 
they  rose,  to  leave  the  men  over  their 
cigars.  So  Paul  was  left,  to  be  drawn, 
willy-nilly,  into  a  discussion  of  an  inter- 
national alliance,  which  did  not  interest 
him  in  the  least. 

Later  when  the  men  joined  the  ladies 
in  the  salon,  Paul  sought  his  sprite,  but 
she  was  careful,  or  so  it  seemed,  not  to  be 
left  alone  with  him.  And  it  was  not  until 
he  said  good-night  that  he  could  express 
to  her  the  wish  to  see  her  again. 

169 


HIGH    NOON 

"You  are  such  an  uncertain  lady,"  he 
said  to  her,  smiling,  "so  restless  within 
the  confines  of  a  town-house,  that  I  hope 
you  will  let  me  call  to-morrow — before 
you  suddenly  go  dashing  off  to  climb 
some  peak,  or  to  visit  some  foreign  coast." 

"Come  for  tea,  to-morrow,  if  you 
wish."  She  looked  up  at  him  quickly — 
searchingly,  Paul  thought — and  his  blood 
raced  madly  through  his  veins. 

Adieus  were  said>  and  Paul  found  him- 
self again  in  his  taximeter  cab.  In  a  state 
of  mind  quite  different  from  that  which 
had  obsessed  him  on  his  way  to  the  din- 
ner, he  arrived  once  more  at  the  hotel. 

"Ah!  these  mad  English!"  Paul's 
chauffeur  said  to  himself  as  he  pocketed 
an  extravagant  pourboire.  "We  see  too 
few  of  them!  Milord  Rosbif  must  have 
been  having  some  famous  old  wine  over 


170 


HIGH    NOON 

in  the  Faubourg  St.  Germain,  is  it  not 
so?"  he  asked  himself. 

But  it  was  the  more  exalted  intoxica- 
tion of  the  soul  that  sent  Paul  up  the  steps 
with  the  elastic  stride  of  youth. 

Who  was  she?  Paul  did  not  know, 
even  now.  Mademoiselle  Vseslavitch  had 
said  nothing  of  her  family  or  her  home. 
Beyond  the  fact  that  she  was  Russian,  and 
a  friend  of  the  Dalmatian  Ambassador's 
wife — herself  a  Slav — Paul  was  still  ig- 
norant. Indeed,  for  all  he  knew,  she 
might  be  some  poor  relation — lack  of  for- 
tune was  the  only  possible  reason  he 
could  ascribe  for  her  being  unmarried. 
Beautiful  and  attractive  women,  of  good 
family — if  they  were  rich — did  not  wan- 
der over  the  Continent  long  without  hus- 
bands.    Well — that    mattered    nothing. 


171 


HIGH    NOON 

Thank  heaven,  he  was  not  bound  by  any 
necessity  of  fortune. 

Before  he  switched  off  his  light  that 
night  Paul  took  from  one  of  his  boxes  a 
small  flat  object  of  red  morocco  inlaid 
with  gold.  He  lifted  a  tiny  lid  and  there, 
through  wide-set  and  strangely  fascinat- 
ing eyes  a  lady  looked  at  him.  It  was  the 
most  amazing  miniature  Paul  had  ever 
seen.  And  the  face  depicted  there  with 
some  unknown  master's  consummate  skill 
— how  often  had  it  proved  for  him  the 
only  consolation  he  could  find  in  the 
whole  world. 

His  eyes  dimmed  as  they  conveyed  to 
him  the  image  of  his  still  beloved  Imper- 
atorskoye — he  pressed  the  bauble  to  his 
lips.  Ah  I  God!  the  cold  glass!  How 
different  from  her  melting  kiss! 

Not  easily  did  he  control  his  emotions. 
Of  late  years  he  seldom  opened  the  por- 


172 


HIGH    NOON 

trait  because  of  the  almost  overwhelming 
rush  of  memories  it  always  brought  to 
him. 

"There  is  a  strange  resemblance,"  he 
mused,  after  he  had  carried  the  miniature 
where  the  light  shone  full  upon  it. 
Was  it  the  strong  predominance  of  the 
Russian  type  which  stamped  alike  the 
features  of  his  dead  Queen  and  the  living 
lady  he  had  seen  that  evening?  Paul 
could  not  tell.  He  closed  the  case  reluct- 
antly. Never  had  he  expected  to  see  an- 
other comparable  to  his  long  lost  love. 
Well,  he  was  drifting,  perhaps.  Who 
knew? 

And  yet  he  felt  again,  as  his  hand 
rested  upon  the  precious  casket,  that  she 
in  her  wisdom  must  be  cognizant  of  it  all. 
Indeed,  Paul  had  gone  through  the  years 
of  his  manhood  with  a  feeling  that  her 
presence  was  always  near  to  him.    The 


m 


HIGH    NOON 

conviction  that  had  come  to  him  as  he  had 
stood  in  the  Cathedral  at  Langres  was  too 
strong  to  be  shaken  off.  Whatever  hap- 
pened— and  Paul  meant  to  win  the 
woman  he  had  that  night  left  in  the  Fau- 
bourg St.  Germain — he  felt  sure  his 
Queen  had  willed  it. 

Such  is  the  inexplicable  influence  that 
the  dead  sometimes  exert.  I  will  not  try 
to  tell  you  more  of  that  now.  It  would 
take  too  long.  And  I  should  first  have  to 
tell  you  about  many  sad  things  that  hap- 
pened a  score  of  years  ago,  if  you  do  not 
know  them  already.  And  then  I  might 
become  melancholy.  It  is  my  pleasure 
instead  to  tell  another  story  altogether, 
which  is  joyful  and  appropriate.  And  it 
is  this  very  story  which  I  mean  to  tell  in 
this  book. 


174 


CHAPTER  XVI 

WHEN  Paul  rang  the  bell  at  the 
Dalmatian  Embassy  the  next 
afternoon  it  was  with  a  firm  de- 
termination to  learn  more  of  the  Coun- 
tess's guest.  If  she  would  not  tell  him 
about  herself,  then  he  would  find  out 
from  the  wife  of  the  Ambassador. 

The  Countess  had  always  warmly  wel- 
comed Paul,  when  Count  Oreshefski  pre- 
sided over  the  legation  house  in  London, 
and  Paul  had  responded  to  her  motherly 
interest  by  opening  his  heart  to  a  greater 
extent  even  than  to  his  own  mother,  the 
proud  Lady  Henrietta.  For  the  Countess 
had  known  and  loved  his  Queen — a  fact 
which  formed  an  unalterable  bond  of 
sympathy  between  them. 


175 


HIGH    NOON 

Paul  wandered  about  the  drawing- 
room,  when  the  footman  had  departed 
with  his  card?  too  restless — too  eager — to 
be  seated.  In  one  of  his  turns  about  the 
room  his  eyes  alighted  on  an  object  which 
instantly  arrested  his  idle  steps.  It  was  a 
woman's  photograph,  lying  on  a  small 
table,  as  though  placed  there  by  a  care- 
less hand  and  then  forgotten.  A  tiny  ob- 
ject to  wTork  such  an  effect,  but  it  was 
enough  to  bring  Paul  to  a  round  halt. 

There,  looking  up  at  him  from  the 
card,  was  the  face  of  the  woman  he  had 
come  to  see — Mademoiselle  Vseslavitch. 
There  was  a  wistful,  touching  expression 
to  the  pictured  face,  but  it  was  a  remark- 
ably fine  likeness,  and  Paul  glowed  with 
secret  joy  as  he  hid  it  away  in  his  breast- 
pocket, murmuring  inaudibly  to  be  for- 

176 


HIGH    NOON 

given  for  the  theft,  but — alas  for  the 
cause  of  honesty — gleefully  unrepentant. 

He  scarcely  had  time  to  move  from  the 
table,  as  his  ear  caught  the  rustle  of  ap- 
proaching silk,  when  the  fair  original  of 
the  photograph  entered,  alone,  and  greet- 
ed him  cordially. 

"I  am  so  sorry!"  she  said,  as  she  held 
out  her  hand  toward  Paul.  "The  Coun- 
tess has  been  suddenly  called  to  Etampes, 
where  her  sister  is  ill.  I  am  left  to  do  the 
honours  at  the  tea-table.  You  won't  mind, 
I  hope?" 

Paul  expressed  himself  as  sorry  to  learn 
of  the  illness  of  the  Countess's  sister;  he 
did  not  know  the  lady.  And  he  spoke  the 
usual  regrets  over  missing  the  charming 
society  of  the  Ambassador's  wife.  But 
there  was  a  light  in  his  eye  which  denied 
any  great  grief.    As  a  matter  of  fact,  he 


177 


HIGH    NOON 

was  overjoyed  that  he  would  have  the 
Countess's  guest  to  himself. 

"Come  into  the  library,"  said  Made- 
moiselle Vseslavitch,  "and  we  will  have 
the  tea  things  brought  in  there.  It's  not 
too  early  for  you,  is  it?" 

Paul  laughed  at  the  idea  of  its  ever 
being  too  early  for  an  Englishman's  tea. 
Under  pressure  of  work,  when  Parlia- 
ment was  sitting,  he  drank  innumerable 
cups.  And  even  when  he  was  spending 
his  time  at  Verdayne  Place  he  always  had 
tea  ready  to  drink  between  sets  of  tennis, 

The  Verdayne  tea  was  famous  all  ovet 
the  countryside.  It  was  a  Russian  variety, 
Paul  always  steadfastly  refused  to  di* 
vulge  to  anyone — ever  the  Vicar's  wife — 
the  place  where  he  bought  it,  and  he  al- 
ways had  it  prepared  in  a  Russian  samo* 
var. 


r78 


HIGH    NOON 

Once  in  the  library,  a  great  sombre 
room  to  which  an  open  coal  fire  lent  a 
cheerful  touch,  Paul's  companion  seated 
herself  at  a  low  tea-table  and  busied  her- 
self with  the  samovar. 

"This  is  Russian  tea/'  she  said,  smil- 
ing.   "You  may  not  care  for  it." 

"On  the  contrary,"  Paul  replied,  sip- 
ping the  steaming  amber  fluid — "I  al- 
ways use  this  same  kind  at  home.  One 
can't  fail  to  detect  the  peculiar  aromatic 
flavour  which  tea  retains  when  it  has 
travelled  overland,  but  which  most  of  the 
leaves  sold  in  England  lose  in  coming  by 
sea." 

"This  is  my  own — which  I  always 
carry  with  me/'  Mademoiselle  Vsesla- 
vitch  remarked.  "We  have  used  no  other 
in  our  family  for  many  years." 

"And  wrhere,  Mademoiselle,  if  I  may 
ask,  does  this  highly  discriminating  fam- 


179 


HIGH    NOON 

ily  reside?  Perhaps,  in  the  course  of  my 
wanderings  there  might  come  a  time 
when  it  would  be  a  most  important  mat- 
ter for  me  to  obtain  a  cup  of  this  truly 
remarkable  brew." 

Mademoiselle  Vseslavitch  laughed 
mischievously  at  Paul.  She  had  mo- 
tioned him  to  a  chair  where  the  firelight 
reached  his  face,  whereas  her  own  was 
more  in  shadow.  He  did  not  see  the 
amusement  in  her  eyes  when  she  replied : 

"Oh!  You  can  find  tea  like  that  in 
many  houses  east  of  the  Balkans.  It  is 
really  not  wonderful  at  all." 

Paul  saw  that  the  lady  did  not  care  to 
tell  him  much  of  herself,  and  he  did  not 
venture  to  press  her  further  just  then. 
But  now  that  the  Countess  was  not  there 
to  question,  he  felt  that  he  must  make 
some  effort  later. 

180 


HIGH    NOON 

As  they  sat  there  the  lady  talked  to  him 
of  things  in  Paris2  of  the  Luxembourg, 
the  Louvre,  Notre  Dame,  the  boulevards, 
and  then  she  wickedly  mentioned  the 
Bois  de  Boulogne.  But  Paul  did  not 
prove  very  responsive  on  that  subject. 
The  remembrance  of  the  spectacle  he  had 
presented  the  afternoon  before  did  not 
please  him. 

He  knew  right  well  that  she  was  teas- 
ing him,  though  she  did  not  mention  the 
incident  He  almost  wished  she  would — 
it  might  give  him  an  opportunity  to  say  to 
her  the  words  that  he  longed  to  say. 

As  for  Lucerne — or  Langres — Made- 
moiselle nimbly  avoided  those  spots — it 
was  as  if  they  had  no  place  on  her  map 
of  Europe.  And  try  as  he  could,  Paul 
could  not  bring  himself  to  mention  them. 

At  last  the  ridiculousness  of  the  situa- 
tion dawned  on  him.    Suppose  he  should 


181 


HIGH    NOON 

boldly  recall  to  Mademoiselle  the  ren- 
contre in  the  rustic  tea-house  at  Lucerne? 
Clearly,  he  might  commit  an  unfortunate 
faux  pas  by  such  a  move.  No,  he  dared 
not  speak  to  her  of  an  incident  so  uncon- 
ventional. He  must  ignore  the  fact  that 
he  had  ever  seen  her  before,  unless  she 
herself  mentioned  it.  It  was  clear  that 
she  would  demand  careful  wooing.  This 
was  a  time  when  he  must  keep  himself 
well  in  hand. 

And  just  as  Paul  had  reached  this  con- 
clusion something  happened — it  was  but 
a  little  thing — that  upset  all  his  well-laid 
plans. 

As  the  lady  held  out  more  tea  for  Paul 
and  he  drew  near  to  take  it,  he  caught 
once  more,  as  at  Lucerne,  the  faintest 
breath  of  that  strange  perfume  so  dear  to 
his  memory.     His  hand  shook  with  such 

182 


HIGH    NOON 

sudden  agitation  that  he  set  the  cup  upon 
the  table,  lest  it  fall. 

The  lady  looked  up  quickly  at  Paul, 
and  as  he  stood  there  over  her  their  eyes 
met  fairly.  All  skillful  fencing  was  over. 
The  time  had  come  when  the  truth  must 
be  told. 

"Let  us  drop  the  mask,  Mademoiselle," 
he  said  with  a  slight  choke  in  his  voice. 
Without  warning  the  thrill  of  youth  had 
fired  his  blood  and  he  cast  prudence  to 
the  four  winds.  What  mattered  conven- 
tionality? What  mattered  anything?  He 
only  knew  that  he  cared  more  for  her 
than  for  all  else  in  the  whole  world,  and 
he  took  her  hand  in  his  with  a  tumultuous 
heart. 

"I  love  you,  dear,"  he  said  simply. 
"You  yourself  are  the  beautiful  lady  I 
have  sought  constantly  since  that  time  I 
first  saw  you,  as  I  looked  up  into  the 

183 


HIGH    NOON 

starry  skies.  At  first  I  thought  your  eyes 
also  were  stars." 

She  gazed  up  at  him  for  a  moment,  her 
hand  motionless  in  his,  while  neither 
stirred. 

"My  heart  misgives  me!"  she  said  then. 
"Words  are  so  easily  said — they  are  often 
spoken  idly — pour  passer  le  temps — and 
soon  forgotten.  Ah!  Sir  Paul!  forgive 
me,  I  beg  of  you — if  I  was  mad  once.  I 
promise  myself  it  shall  never  happen 
again.  It  was  unfortunate — but  there  are 
things  one  cannot  explain." 

"But  I  love  you,"  Paul  repeated. 

"Are  you  sure  it  is  love?"  she  asked 
him. 

Ah !  how  well  Paul  knew  now,  and  he 
bent  toward  the  face  of  his  dreams. 

"No!  no!  not  that!"  she  said,  and  rose 
from  her  place.    "You  don't  know  what 

184 


HIGH    NOON 

you  do.  Please  go!  go!  quickly,  for  I 
must  be  alone." 

And  then  as  Paul  hesitated  for  an 
instant,  she  fled  through  the  heavy 
draperies  into  the  room  beyond,  leaving 
but  a  breath  of  the  faint,  sweet  perfume 
to  hallow  the  air. 

With  heart  bowed  down  Paul  passed 
out  through  the  great  doorway,  the  words 
from  an  old  play  ringing  through  his 
brain: 

"She  was  lovable,  and  he  loved  her; 
but  he  was  not  lovable,  and  she  loved  him 
not" 


185 


CHAPTER  XVII 

WITH  the  many  details  of  the 
evening  that  Paul  spent,  I  will 
not  weary  you,  dear  reader. 
Wandering  about  the  boulevards  he 
went,  like  one  walking  in  a  dream,  at 
times  stopping  to  rest  at  some  quiet  table 
apart  from  the  throng  of  merry-makers, 
entirely  disregardful  of  the  laughing 
faces,  the  friendly  glances  that  now  and 
then  searched  him  out.  Like  a  canker 
worm  misery  gnawed  at  his  heart. 

He  stopped  at  a  cable  office  and  de- 
spatched to  his  mother,  the  Lady  Henri- 
etta, a  message  which,  though  she  knew 
it  not,  was  pregnant  with  meaning. 

"Delayed  indefinitely  in  Paris." 

187 


HIGH    NOON 

Paul  wondered  afterward,  as  he  sat 
quietly  sipping  his  coffee  in  a  small  cafe, 
that  in  the  little  breast  of  one  mortal  there 
could  be  such  room  for  infinite  wretched- 
ness. Within  his  heart  that  night  was 
nothing  but  darkness  and  pain.  He  felt 
as  though  his  very  heart  was  breaking  and 
bleeding.  The  sweat  lay  cold  upon  his 
brow  and  he  sighed  deeply. 

Alas  it  was  all  true.  He  loved  her, 
though  she  loved  him  not;  he  gave  her 
all,  and  she  gave  him  nothing;  and  yet 
he  could  not  part  from  her.  He  could 
not  help  his  unlucky  passion. 

Contrary  to  his  wont,  he  did  not,  as  he 
sat  alone?  dream  his  way  back  into  the 
past.  He  looked  rather  into  the  mystic 
haze  of  the  future,  and  heard  not  the  con- 
fused sound  of  the  voices  of  men  and 
women,  nor  the  gay  music  which  filled 
the  place. 

1 88 


HIGH    NOON 

Paul,  after  all,  was  no  seer.  As  to  what 
the  outcome  would  be,  all  the  dreaming 
he  might  do  would  tell  him  nothing.  He 
rose  and  proceeded  to  his  hotel. 

But  to  return  for  a  moment  to  the 
source  of  Paul's  unhappiness.  He  might 
not  have  been  so  wretched  as  he  sat  in  the 
little  cafe  could  he  have  seen  her  in  her 
boudoir,  now  weeping  with  wild  uncon- 
trollable sobs,  now  smiling  radiantly 
through  her  tears. 

For  Mademoiselle  Natalie  Vseslavitch 
was  at  once  the  happiest  and  the 
most  miserable  of  women.  She  had  taken 
advantage  of  the  privilege  of  her  sex 
when  she  feigned  to  doubt  Paul's  fervent 
declaration  that  afternoon.  She  did  be- 
lieve him.  Her  keen  feminine  instinct 
told  her  that  his  simple  "I  lovf  you"  were 

189 


HIGH    NOON 

not  the  idle  words  she  pretended  to  think 
them. 

And  yet  with  the  joy  of  being 
loved  by  the  one  who  was  the  dearest  to 
her  own  heart  came  also  the  crushing  re- 
membrance of  the  dreadful  barrier  by 
which  she  was  forever  shut  from  happi- 
ness. However,  the  indomitable  will  of 
her  proud  ancestry  finally  asserted  itself. 
She  sat  down  at  her  dainty  writing  table, 
and  in  a  steady  hand  she  wrote : 

"I  am  going  away  to-morrow,  and  I 
may  never  see  you  again.  When  this 
reaches  you  I  shall  be  gone.  Whether  we 
meet  again  sometime  will  depend  upon 
many  things.  As  for  those  which  concern 
me,  I  cannot  write  you  now.  And  you? 
Can  you  not  imagine  obstacles  for  your- 
self? Has  it  not  occurred  to  you,  even 
now,  that  I — a  strange  woman — may  be 
many  things  you  had  not,  at  first,  dreamed 


190 


HIGH    NOON 

of?  There  are  those,  as  you  must  surely 
know,  whose  business  it  is  to  roam  about 
the  centers  of  Europe.  And  for  what 
purpose?  None  know  their  missions,  or 
what  master  they  may  serve,  except  the 
one  whose  will  they  implicitly  obey.  You 
have  told  me  that  you  love  me.  Are  you 
sure,  my  friend,  that  that  would  not  all 
be  changed  if  I  were  some  one — some- 
thing— that  I  seemed  not?  Think  well 
over  this,  I  pray  you.  It  may  mean  much 
to  me. 

"Meanwhile  do  not  try  to  find  me,  for 
I  shall  be  hidden  far  away.  Some  day, 
perhaps,  you  may  know  all." 

When  Paul  received  this  letter  the  fol- 
lowing morning  it  was  almost  more  than 
he  could  bear.  How  could  she  have  mis- 
judged him  so!  A  longing  seized  him  to 
find  her — in  spite  of  her  charge.  The 
situation  was  unendurable — he  must  seek 
her  out  and  convince  her  that  it  was  she 


191 


HIGH    NOON 

herself  alone  that  mattered.  What  was 
position  to  him?  He  had  position.  He 
was  endowed  with  worldly  goods.  And 
he  could  marry  whom  he  chose.  He 
looked  at  the  note  again. 

What  could  she  mean? 

Ah!  he  had  it!  She  was  a  secret 
agent — there  was  no  doubt — working 
probably  in  the  service  of  the  Dalmatian 
government.  Well,  for  all  that  Paul 
cared  nothing.  The  only  course  of  action 
open  to  him  was  to  follow  her,  to  the  ends 
of  the  world,  if  need  be. 

He  would  convince  her — she  must  be 
convinced — and  then,  he  hoped,  all 
would  be  well.  She  cared  for  him,  some- 
what— the  tone  of  the  letter  seemed  to 
show  that — though  she  tried  to  conceal  it, 
evidently.  The  Countess  was  expected 
back  that  day — he  would  seek  her  help. 

Paul  wasted  no  time.     Another  hour 


192 


HIGH    NOON 

found  him  at  the  Dalmatian  Embassy, 
face  to  face  with  the  Countess  Oreshefski, 
who  was  instantly  all  sympathy  as  she 
noted  his  agitation. 

"My  dear  lady,"  he  said  to  her,  "you 
will  not  think  it  strange,  I  hope,  if  I  ask 
your  help  in  a  matter  of  great  importance 
to  me?1' 

"What  is  it,  Sir  Paul?  You  know  that 
if  I  can  be  of  assistance  to  you  in  any  way 
it  will  make  me  only  too  happy."  And 
the  Countess  regarded  him  with  a  tender 
look. 

Paul  had  a  strange  attraction  for 
women,  as  I  have  said,  and  this  fine  wom- 
an, having  lost  her  only  son — Paul's  own 
age — many  years  before,  had  always  felt 
a  mother's  interest  in  him. 

"You  are  very  kind,"  Paul  continued, 
"and  I  will  be  quite  frank  w7ith  you.  I 
shall  have  to  presume  upon  your  good  na- 


193 


HIGH    NOON 

ture  to  ask  your  advice  and  help  once 
more.  To  come  to  the  point  at  once: 
Yesterday,  here  in  your  house,  I  told 
Mademoiselle  Vseslavitch  that  I  loved 
her.  To-day  she  is  gone, — where  I  do 
not  know."  Paul  looked  at  his  compan- 
ion with  appealing  eyes. 

"My  dear  friend!"  the  Countess  ex- 
claimed, with  truly  feminine  irrelevancy, 
"I  am  delighted.  I  would  not  be  a 
woman  if  I  were  not  always  ready  to  en- 
list in  the  cause  of  a  lover.  And  as  for 
helping  you,  I  would  do  anything  for 
Sir  Paul  Verdayne  which  lay  in  my 
power.  You  want  to  find  her  at  once?" 
she  asked  him. 

"Yes,  Madame." 

"Then  you  are  going  to  Russia — to- 
day, if  I  read  your  face  rightly.  Well,  it 
is  a  long  journey.  I  will  tell  you  in  two 
words  where  to  find  her — near  Kieff.  Go 


194 


HIGH    NOON 

to  that  city;  from  there  a  ride  of  some 
fifty  miles  across  country  awaits  you — to 
the  Vseslavitch  estate.  Everyone  in  Kieff 
knows  the  place.  You  will  have  no  great 
difficulty  finding  it — beyond  the  inevit- 
able discomforts  of  travel  in  that  corner 
of  the  world.  But  what  are  hardships  to 
a  man  in  love?"  And  she  smiled  at  Paul 
in  a  manner  so  infectious  that  he  already 
felt  his  spirits  rising. 

"You  are  too  kind,  my  dear  lady!"  he 
exclaimed.  "You  are  a  real  fairy-god- 
mother. See,  with  your  magic  wand  you 
have  touched  the  mountain  in  my  path — 
and  it  is  gone.  And  now,  god-mother," 
he  said,  almost  gaily,  "tell  me — who  is 
this  beautiful  lady?" 

"Ah !  that  you  must  learn  from  her  own 
lips.  Simply  Mademoiselle  Vseslavitch 
she  must  be  to  you  until  she  wills  it  other- 
wise."    She  laughed  as  she  read  the  sud- 


195 


HIGH    NOON 

den  disappointment  written  on  Paul's 
face. 

"You  remember  the  old  tale  of  the 
knight  whose  kiss  transformed  the  beg- 
gar-maid into  a  king's  daughter?  Some 
such  method  I  would  suggest,  perhaps." 

"But  I've  tried  that  already!"  Paul  al- 
most said.  But  he  caught  himself  in  the 
nick  of  time. 

"How  can  I  ever  thank  you  enough?" 
he  said  as  he  rose  to  go.  "You  saw 
Mademoiselle  yourself  before  she  went?" 
he  asked. 

"No.  She  left  hurriedly  this  morning, 
very  early,  before  my  return.  My  maid 
told  me  that  she  had  gone  back  to  her 
home." 

With  grateful  words  Paul  made  his 
adieu  and  hurried  away.  The  door  had 
scarcely  closed  behind  him  when  a  foot- 
man entered  the  morning-room.     In  his 

196 


HIGH    NOON 

hand  he  carried  a  small  tray — and  on  it 
there  lay  a  letter. 

"A  note  which  Mademoiselle  Vsesla- 
vitch  directed  me  to  give  you,  Madame," 
he  said. 

The  Countess  opened  it. 

"Dear  Lady: 

"I  am  going  home.  Forgive  my  seem- 
ing rudeness.  You  know  my  moods  too 
well,  I  think,  not  to  understand  that  I 
have  suddenly  felt  the  call  of  the  steppe. 
And  I  charge  you,  my  old  friend,  as  you 
love  me,  tell  no  one  of  my  whereabouts. 
Ever  your  devoted 

"Natalie." 

That  was  all. 

"This  note,  Frangois — why  was  it  not 
given  me  before?"  she  asked  the  footman 
sharply. 

"Ah,  pardon    Madame — they  did  not 


197 


HIGH    NOON 

tell  me  you  had  returned  until  just  now. 
And  Mademoiselle  charged  me  to  de- 
liver it  to  you  with  my  own  hands." 

The  Countess  motioned  him  away. 
Had  she  been  indiscreet  to  take  Sir  Paul 
so  quickly  into  her  confidence?  It  was 
still  not  too  late,  probably,  for  a  messen- 
ger to  catch  him  at  the  Hotel  du  Rhin 
before  he  left.  He  was  too  much  a  gen- 
tleman, she  knew,  not  to  consider  as  un- 
said the  information  she  had  given  him, 
if  she  asked  it  of  him. 

"Pouf!"  she  exclaimed,  with  a  shrug. 
"This  is  but  the  whim  of  a  girl  who  does 
not  know  her  own  mind.  Come — I  will 
be  a  consistent  fatalist.  The  affair  is  out 
of  my  hands.  After  all,  it  is  just  what  I 
have  long  wished — though  I  never 
dreamed  for  such  good  fortune  as  that  it 
would  be  Sir  Paul  Verdayne.  She'll 
simply   have   to   forgive   me" — and   the 

198 


HIGH    NOON 

Countess  smilingly  hummed  an  old  Dal- 
matian love-song  as  she  left  the  room. 

Meanwhile,  Paul  paced  the  floor  of  his 
sitting-room  impatiently  while  Baxter 
packed  his  luggage.  A  strange  exulta- 
tion moved  him,  and  he  dreamt  of  joy  and 
love.  To  him,  his  dreams  were  more 
than  mere  bubbles — before  his  eyes  lay 
all  the  glory  of  the  earth,  and  a  whole 
Heaven  besides.  Ah!  if  the  good  god- 
mother could  only  have  endowed  him 
with  seven-leagued  boots!  He  could 
scarcely  wait  for  the  long  journey  to  be 
finished.    And  it  had  not  yet  begun. 

"Hurry,  Baxter!"  he  called,  as  he 
looked  again  at  his  watch.  And  Baxter, 
thinking  of  the  pretty  femme  de  chambre, 
once  more  was  tempted  to  give  notice. 


199 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

ON  and  on,  during  long  days  and 
restless  nights,  our  Don  Quixote 
journeyed — for  was  not  Paul  like 
that  noble  knight,  endeavouring  to  recall 
a  long  dead  past  unto  life?  After  all, 
there  was  only  one  Dulcinea  del  Tobosa 
— and  she  was  still,  and  ever  would  be, 
the  most  beautiful  woman  in  the  world. 

One  morning,  at  length,  Paul  awak- 
ened from  a  troublous  sleep.  The  train 
had  stopped,  and  looking  out  of  the  win- 
dow in  the  early  mist  he  saw  some  strange 
figures  standing  by  the  side  of  the  track — 
bearded  men,  mostly,  with  brilliant  scar- 
let shirts,  and  trousers  tucked  into  huge 
clumsy  boots — some  of  them  half-cov- 
ered with  long  white  aprons.    He  recog- 


20 1 


HIGH    NOON 

nized  these  gentry  as  customs  officials  and 
porters.  At  last  he  had  reached  the  Rus- 
sian frontier! 

He  dressed  quickly,  eager,  for  the  first 
time  in  his  life1  to  have  his  baggage  ex- 
amined and  his  passports  inspected. 
Usually  Paul  regarded  such  perform- 
ances as  a  violation  of  the  Heaven-sent 
rights  of  an  Englishman  to  wander  un- 
molested over  the  face  of  the  earth.  But 
now — once  the  ceremony  was  over — it 
meant  that  he  was  one  step  nearer  the 
goal. 

Having  satisfied  the  zealous  subjects  of 
the  Tsar  that  he  was  neither  a  Nihilist 
nor  a  Jew,  and  that  his  luggage  contained 
no  high  explosives,  nor  other  contraband 
goods,  Paul's  history  was  carefully  writ- 
ten down  in  a  leather  covered  book,  and 
he  was  granted  the  right  as  an  English 
gentleman  to  seek  amusement  where  he 


202 


HIGH    NOON 

would  throughout  the  domains  of  the 
Little  Father  at  St.  Petersburg. 

The  other  passengers  having  in  their 
turn  been  duly  examined,  the  train  at  last 
moved  on,  to  drag  itself  monotonously 
for  hour  after  hour  through  countless 
cornfields  and  stretches  of  forest.  At  last 
— and  Paul  had  begun  to  think  the  time 
would  never  come — he  stepped  down  and 
stretched  his  tired  muscles  in  the  railway 
station  at  Warsaw.  The  prospect  of  a 
good  hotel,  with  a  tub,  a  well-served  din- 
ner and  a  real  bed  once  more,  Paul  con- 
sidered for  a  moment.  But  no!  he  would 
push  on  at  once.  He  could  rest  at  his 
journey's  end— this  was  no  time  to  look 
after  the  comfort  of  his  body;  the  cry  of 
his  soul  must  first  be  satisfied. 

And  after  a  brief  delay  he  found  him- 
self again  en  route. 

On  his  travels  in  out-of-the-way  cor- 


203 


HIGH    NOON 

ners  of  the  globe,  Paul  had  long  ago  ac- 
customed himself  to  discomfort — even 
hardship.  But  he  shuddered  as  he 
thought  of  his  dainty  lady  being  sub- 
jected to  the  vicissitudes  of  a  long  trip  on 
those  primitive  Russian  railways.  For 
two  days  and  a  night,  in  a  heaving,  sway- 
ing train,  in  a  carriage  full  of  reeking 
people  smoking  rancid  tobacco,  he  was 
forced  to  curb  his  eagerness.  As  the  time 
of  his  arrival  drew  nearer  Paul  found  it 
all  the  more  difficult  to  endure  the  delay. 

It  seemed  as  if  the  end  would  never 
come.  The  country  was  almost  all  forest 
now  and  more  bleak  and  mournful  than 
any  Paul  had  ever  seen.  The  innumer- 
able willow  trees,  with  their  branches 
drooping  to  earth  as  if  they,  of  all  living 
things,  denied  the  joys  of  spring,  exerted 
on  him  a  strangely  depressing  influence. 

But  finally,  to  Paul's  relief,  the  country 

204 


HIGH    NOON 

became  more  open,  and  at  last,  as  the 
train  rolled  along  the  edge  of  a  clear  up- 
land, Paul  saw  the  sheen  of  the  glorious 
Dnieper,  a  silver  thread  beyond  which 
rose  a  low  range  of  brown  hills  covered 
with  woods.  And  soon  he  made  out  the 
spires  and  domes  of  Kieff. 

A  little  while  longer — and  then  with  a 
long-drawn  sigh  of  satisfaction  he  felt 
the  firm  earth  under  foot  once  more. 
Kieff  at  last!  Paul  could  scarcely  believe 
it. 

Into  one  of  the  open  vans  that  meet  the 
weary  traveller  Paul  climbed,  and  rode 
across  the  hills  to  the  fashionable  quarter 
of  the  town.  The  Grand  Hotel,  he  found, 
was  very  comfortable,  and  he  retired  that 
night  in  a  calmer  frame  of  mind  than  he 
had  known  since  he  left  Paris. 

For  he  felt  that  he  was  on  the  thresh- 
old. 


205 


HIGH    NOON 

From  Kieff  Paul  proceeded  the  next 
morning,  accompanied  by  his  faithful 
Baxter,  who  held  in  true  British  con- 
tempt the  "houtlandish  Russians,"  and 
grumbled  far  more  than  he  was  wont  as 
he  stowed  into  the  droskie  such  necessi- 
ties as  a  week's  absence  required.  But 
Paul's  eagerness  proved  infectious,  and 
before  the  sun  had  arisen  they  were  far 
on  their  way. 

It  seemed  a  bit  unconventional  to 
Paul's  English  mind  to  appear  at  a  lady's 
house  without  an  invitation — even  warn- 
ing of  his  coming.  But  there  was  nothing 
for  it — it  was  the  only  course  that  offered. 
Those  living  in  Russian  country-houses, 
he  knew,  were  used  to  entertaining  such 
travellers  as  came  their  way  unbidden. 
In  sparsely  settled  districts,  where  there 
were  not  even  wretched  inns  for  shelter, 

206 


HIGH    NOON 

it  was  a  custom  that  had  come  about  quite 
naturally. 

Paul  had  never  been  in  that  part  of 
Russia  before,  and  it  was  with  more  than 
passing  interest  that  he  observed  the 
scenes  around  him.  At  first  he  could  not 
understand  the  passion  which  he  knew 
Mademoiselle  Vseslavitch  felt  for  her 
own  country,  for  near  Kiefl  the  land  was 
sterile — the  scenery  somewhat  unevent- 
ful. But  as  the  leagues  put  themselves 
between  him  and  the  town  the  aspect  of 
the  landscape  changed.  It  was  early 
Summer  or  late  Spring  then,  you  remem- 
ber, and  after  some  hours  Paul  found 
himself  driven  through  luxuriant  vegeta- 
tion. As  his  eye  traversed  the  great  bil- 
lows of  the  grassy  sea  he  saw  that  one 
might  easily  become  lost  in  the  verdure. 
And  yet  what  glorious  reward  awaited 
the  bold  adventurer!  Somewhere,  beyond 

207 


HIGH    NOON 

this  emerald  ocean,  waited  the  lady  he 
sought. 

At  midday  they  stopped  before  a  peas- 
ant's hut,  in  the  doorway  of  which  a  mou- 
jik  stood,  wrapped  in  sheepskin  and  with 
long  and  shaggy  hair  and  beard. 

"Good-day,  brother;  how  goes  it?" 
asked  Paul,  for  he  knew  a  little  of  the 
language. 

"Good-day,  little  father;  thank  God,  it 
goes  well  with  me/'  the  man  answered. 
"What  is  your  pleasure?  How  can  I 
serve  you?"  and  his  face  unbent  with  a 
welcoming  smile. 

"A  little  food,  brother,  if  you  will," 
Paul  replied,  "for  we  have  come  many 
leagues." 

The  moujik  made  sign  for  Paul  and 
his  men  to  enter,  and  soon  at  a  rude  table 
they  were  eating  black  bread  and  drink- 
ing kvass. 

208 


HIGH    NOON 

Fresh  from  the  cafes  of  Paris,  Paul 
delighted  in  this  primitive  simplicity. 
The  transition  from  the  boulevards  to 
the  steppe  was  most  refreshing.  When 
after  a  short  rest  they  were  ready  to  start 
on  again,  Paul  would  have  the  man  ac- 
cept money  for  their  entertainment.  But 
the  peasant  waved  the  coin  away. 

"To  take  payment  for  the  bread  and 
salt  which  a  passing  stranger  consumes  in 
thy  dwelling  is  a  great  sin,"  he  said.  "I 
am  happy  to  have  served  thee." 


209 


CHAPTER  XIX 

ONCE  more  on  the  road,  the  driver 
urged  on  his  horses,  already- 
tired.  The  country  was  fast  be- 
coming rougher,  and  more  wooded,  and 
now  and  then  Paul  caught  sight  of  hills 
in  the  distance.  As  the  afternoon  wore  on 
he  saw  that  they  would  be  fortunate  if 
night-fall  did  not  overtake  them  before 
they  arrived  at  their  destination.  The 
road  was  full  of  deep  ruts — at  some  stages 
almost  impassable — and  when,  just  as 
darkness  was  close  upon  them,  they  came 
upon  a  large  and  comfortable  appearing 
house — evidently  the  home  of  some  great 
landed  proprietor — Paul  told  the  driver 
to  turn  in. 


211 


HIGH    NOON 

The  house  showed  little  sign  of  any  life 
about  it  until  two  great  wolf-hounds 
came  bounding  out  and  barked  loudly  at 
the  travellers.  Then  a  servant  appeared 
at  the  door}  and  bidding  the  dogs  begone, 
asked  Paul  to  alight  and  enter,  directing 
Baxter  and  the  driver  to  the  court-yard  in 
the  rear. 

The  man-servant  led  Paul  through  a 
dark  hall  into  a  great  drawing-room.  As 
he  entered  the  room  a  woman  laid  down 
a  book  and  rose.  She  must  in  her  time 
have  been  uncommonly  beautiful,  Paul 
thought.  She  was  beautiful  even  now, 
though  her  eyes  were  very  tired  and  her 
face  when  in  repose  was  hard  and  set.  Her 
hair  would  have  at  once  aroused  suspic- 
ion that  it  was  dyed,  for  it  was  lustrous 
and  brilliant  as  burnished  copper.  But 
the  suspicion  would  have  been  without 
justification,  in  the  same  way  as  would 


212 


HIGH    NOON 

have  been  the  notion  that  the  very  pro- 
nounced colour  on  the  woman's  cheeks 
was  artificial  too. 

She  seemed  to  hesitate  a  little,  and  just 
as  Paul  was  about  to  crave  pardon  for 
his  unceremonious  intrusion  (the  servant 
had  merely  opened  the  door  for  him  and 
he  had  entered  unannounced)  a  man, 
dressed,  like  Paul,  in  ordinary  tweeds, 
stepped  quickly  out  of  the  darkness  into 
the  rays  of  the  candelabra. 

For  a  moment  he  gazed  at  Paul  with 
curiosity  without  addressing  him.  Paul 
saw  a  man  with  an  olive  face  set  with 
dark,  almond-shaped  eyes  beneath  a  pair 
of  oblique  and  finely-pencilled  brows; 
his  nose  was  aquiline  and  assertive,  his 
mouth  shrewd  and  mean  and  scarcely 
hidden  by  a  carefully-trained  and  very 
faintly-waxed  moustache.     He  was  ex- 


213 


HIGH    NOOK 

ceedingly  tall  and  astonishingly  spare  in 
build. 

"Ah,  a  traveller,  I  see,"  the  Russian 
said  at  length  in  careful  English.  "You 
are  most  welcome,  I  assure  you,  sir.  We 
are  delighted  to  have  your  company.  It 
is  a  pleasure  which  seldom  comes  to  us 
in  this  lonely  spot.  My  name,"  he  added, 
stretching  out  his  hand  to  Paul,  "is  Boris 
Ivanovitch,  and  this  lady,"  turning  to  his 
companion,  "is — my  sister." 

Paul  bowed  to  the  red-haired  woman. 

"Aldringham  is  my  name,"  he  said,  as 
he  grasped  the  gentleman's  outstretched 
hand.  He  did  not  like  the  look  in  the 
heavy-lidded  eyes  of  his  host,  and  some 
quick  instinct  prevented  him  from  giving 
his  own  name — so  he  fell  back  upon  that 
of  his  mother's  family. 

And  now  a  third  occupant  of  the  house 


214 


HIGH    NOON 

entered — a  tall  young  man  of  the  most 
unpleasant  appearance. 

"My  cousin  Michael,"  said  Ivanovitch 
in  an  even  voice,  "Michael,  this  is  Mr. 
Aldringham,  an  English  traveller." 

The  newcomer  had  very  light  blue 
eyes,  closely  set  together,  and  a  large,  red, 
hawk-like  nose.  His  hands  too  were  large 
and  red,  with  immense  knuckles  and  bru- 
tal, shorty  stubbed  nails.  Paul  took  one 
of  the  huge  red  hands  with  a  barely  re- 
pressed shudder.  It  was  cold  and  clammy 
and  strong  as  a  vise. 

"If  ever/'  thought  the  baronet  to  him- 
self, "I  have  touched  the  hand  of  a  mur- 
derer, I  have  touched  one  now." 

The  tall  young  man  sat  down  presently 
and  carefully  watched  Paul  with  his  nar- 
row, light  blue  eyes,  which  glinted  and 
flashed  all  over  Paul's  face.  Boris  Ivano- 
vitch looked  at  him  sidelong.    The  red- 


215 


HIGH    NOON 

haired  woman  alone  gazed  at  him  openly 
and  frankly  with  eyes  that  were  almost 
honestly  blue. 

There  was  a  little  pause  while  conver- 
sation hung  fire.  There  was  nothing  for 
this  curious  collection  of  human  beings  to 
talk  about  except  the  traveller  himself, 
and  on  this  subject  their  tongues  had  to  be 
silent  as  long  as  he  remained. 

Suddenly  the  door  opened,  and  a  portly 
man  with  a  sallow,  greasy  face  came 
quickly  in.  He  stood  still,  with  his  hand 
on  the  panel  of  the  door,  and  gave  a  short, 
quick  gasp  which  caused  Paul  to  look  at 
him  sharply.  That  form  struck  Paul  as 
strangely  familiar. 

The  fat  man  closed  the  door  behind 
him  gently,  and  came  into  the  centre  of 
the  room. 

"Mr.  Aldringham,"  said  Ivanovitch, 

216 


HIGH    NOON 

"allow  me  to  present  Monsieur  Virot, 
who  acts  as  manager  of  our  estates." 

The  Frenchman's  sallow  and  greasy 
countenance  broke  into  a  hideously  affa- 
ble smile  as  Paul  shook  hands  with  him. 

The  pause  which  followed  this  intro- 
duction became  so  embarrassing  that  the 
lady  suggested  that  they  go  in  to  tea ;  and 
in  a  cheerful  dining-room  Paul  found 
himself  looking  curiously  at  the  collec- 
tion of  tea  and  coffee  pots,  vodka  decan- 
ters, bacon  and  eggs,  and  muffins  and 
cakes,  which  were  spread  promiscuously 
on  the  clean  white  tablecloth. 

The  conversation  turned  on  many 
things,  but  for  the  most  part  upon  the 
weather.  Paul's  host  finished  before  the 
rest,  and,  pleading  business,  begged  to  be 
excused,  and  left  the  room. 

When  the  others  of  the  odd  little  party 
had  eaten   and   drunk  their  fill  of  the 

217 


HIGH    NOON 

heterogeneous  meal  they  returned  to  the 
drawing-room  and  Paul  saw  before  him 
a  most  uncomfortable  evening.  "A 
strangely  assorted  company,"  he  thought, 
"to  find  here  in  this  far-away  spot." 
Clearly,  they  were  all  people  of  the 
world,  and  yet  there  seemed  a  curious  re- 
straint upon  them.  Paul  guessed,  some- 
how, that  it  was  because  of  his  presence. 

"I  trust  that  you  will  pardon  me, 
Mademoiselle,  "and  he  turned  to  the  lady 
— "but  I  have  travelled  all  the  way  from 
Kiefl  to-day,  and  to-morrow  morning  I 
must  rise  early  to  go  on  my  way  to  the 
Vseslavitch  estate.  I  would  prove  but  a 
dull  companion  at  dinner,  I  am  afraid. 
If  you  will  permit  me,  I  think  I  had  bet- 
ter go  up  to  my  room." 

There  was  no  dissent  to  Paul's  sugges- 
tion.    In  fact,  Cousin   Michael  smiled 

218 


HIGH    NOON 

slightly  behind  one  of  his  great  red  hands 
as  if  in  approval  of  the  idea. 

So,  to  the  evident  relief  of  all,  Paul 
said  good-night.  He  was  glad  to  escape 
from  his  strange  companions. 


219 


CHAPTER   XX 

HEARING  the  sound  of  lightly- 
falling  footsteps  behind  him, 
Boris  Ivanovitch  ceased  his  in- 
vestigations of  Sir  Paul's  kit-bag  and  cau- 
tiously turned  his  head. 

As  he  did  so,  he  experienced  a  painful 
sensation.  He  felt  a  little  cold  ring  of 
steel  pressed  against  his  right  temple,  and 
from  past  experience,  both  objective  and 
subjective,  he  knew  that  a  Colt  cartridge 
was  held,  so  to  speak,  in  leash  within  five 
inches  of  his  head. 

For  several  infinitely  long  seconds 
Boris  did  not  entirely  revel  in  the  pause 
that  followed. 

It  was,  indeed,  with  some  relief  that 
he     heard     Paul's     distinctly     pleasant, 


221 


HIGH    NOON 

though  slightly  mocking,  voice  break  the 
accentuated  silence  and  say : 

"Don't  be  alarmed,  Ivanovitch.  I  mean 
you  no  harm.  I  am  simply  psychologi- 
cally interested  in  your  movements.  The 
fact  that  I  am  attempting  to  protect  the 
contents  of  my  kit-bag  from  your  atten- 
tions is  of  comparatively  small  impor- 
tance." 

Boris  drew  a  little  breath  of  relief,  not 
the  less  sincere  because  he  was  conscious 
that  the  muzzle  of  the  revolver  was  with- 
drawn from  his  temple. 

He  heard  the  door  of  the  chamber  close 
softly;  then  the  pleasant  voice  spoke 
again,  though  with  a  slightly  harder  ring 
in  its  tones. 

"Stand  up,  Ivanovitch,"  said  the  voice, 
"and  be  seated.  I  have  a  good  deal  to 
say,  and  it  is  not  my  habit  to  talk  to  any 
man  when  I  find  him  on  his  knees." 


222 


HIGH    NOON 

Boris  rose  a  little  unsteadily  and  faced 
about,  to  find  the  most  disconcerting  eyes 
of  Sir  Paul  bent  full  upon  him. 

Still  retaining  the  revolver  in  his  hand, 
the  baronet  seated  himself  upon  the  edge 
of  his  bed  and  then  motioned  to  his  host 
to  sit  down  upon  a  chair. 

For  a  few  minutes  the  two  men  gazed 
at  each  other  with  curiosity  and  interest. 
Swiftly,  however,  it  came  to  Paul  that  a 
man  in  Boris's  apparent  position  was  not 
likely  to  be  engaged  in  theft.  There 
sprang  into  his  brain  the  notion  that  the 
man  was  simply  searching  through  his 
belongings  with  the  idea  of  blackmail. 

It  almost  made  Paul  laugh  to  think 
that  any  man  should  attempt  to  black- 
mail him.  He  had  nothing  to  disguise, 
nothing  to  hide. 

Indeed,  as  he  sat  easily  on  the  edge  of 
the  bed,  looking  at  the  dark,  disconcerted 


223 


HIGH    NOON 

face  before  him,  he  had  half  a  mind  to 
throw  his  weapon  aside  and  to  tell  Ivano- 
vitch  to  go  his  way  in  peace. 

"What  did  you  find?"  Paul  asked. 

Boris  did  not  even  blink  his  heavy- 
lidded  eyes. 

"Nothing,"  he  said. 

"Yet,"  rejoined  Paul,  almost  medita- 
tively, "you  must  have  been  here  some 
minutes  at  least  before  I  arrived." 

"I  tell  you,"  said  Boris,  almost  earnest- 
ly, "that  I  found  nothing." 

"That  is  to  say,"  said  Paul,  "nothing 
which  you  could  turn  to  your  own  good 
account." 

Boris  smiled  a  sour  yet  demure  little 
smile. 

"Precisely,"  he  said  evenly. 

"Permit  me,"  said  the  baronet,  just  as 
quietly,  "to  inform  you  that  you  are  a 
liar.     I  think  you  will  be  able  to  hand 

224. 


HIGH    NOON 

me  something  that  is  of  interest  to  us 
both." 

"I  was  not  aware  that  I  could,"  replied 
Boris,  with  a  touch  of  sarcasm  in  his 
voice. 

Paul  picked  up  again  the  six-shooter 
which  he  had  laid  carelessly  at  his  side. 

"Try,"  he  said,  and  his  voice  was  gent- 
ly persuasive. 

Just  a  flicker  of  vindictiveness  crept 
into  Boris'  eyes,  and  under  the  suasion  of 
firearms  he  turned  again  to  the  bag. 

After  a  few  moments  Paul,  now 
schooled  to  infinite  placidity,  inquired 
for  the  second  time  if  he  had  found  any- 
thing. 

"Only  a  few  papers,"  said  Boris,  cross- 

iy. 

"Pardon  me,"  said  the  baronet,  "if  I  am 
not  mistaken  you  have  found  something 

225 


HIGH    NOON 

that  seems  of  interest  to  you.  Be  kind 
enough  to  hand  it  to  me." 

The  Russian  turned  about,  and  with  a 
carefully-manicured  hand  offered  Paul 
a  photograph  which  Paul  had  seen  pro- 
truding from  his  pocket. 

Paul  took  it  and  looked  at  it  casually, 
though  the  muscles  on  his  closed  jaws 
stood  out  in  a  manner  that  was  not  wholly 
pleasant  to  look  upon.  It  was,  however, 
with  unfathomable  eyes  that  he  surveyed 
the  portrait  before  him. 

The  photograph  revealed  the  features 
of  a  girl  with  an  astonishingly  quiet 
face.  Her  cheeks  were  round  and  soft, 
and  her  chin  was  round  and  soft,  too, 
but  her  mouth,  a  little  full  and  pro- 
nounced, was  distinctly  sad  and  set.  A 
pair  of  large  eyes  looked  out  upon  the 
world  unwaveringly  and  serenely,  if  a 
little  sorrowfully,  beneath  a  pair  of  fine- 

226 


HIGH    NOON 

ly  pencilled,  level  brows,  which  formed, 
as  it  were,  a  little  bar  of  inflexible  resolve. 
A  mass  of  dark  hair  was  coiled  upon  the 
girPs  head  after  the  manner  of  early  Vic- 
torian heroines.  It  was  a  face  at  once 
striking  and  wistful  in  its  splendour. 

Paul  looked  up  from  the  picture  to 
Ivanovitch. 

"You,"  he  said  simply,  "know  every- 
body hereabouts.  Therefore  I  feel  confi- 
dent that  you  will  be  able  to  tell  me  the 
name  of  this  girl.  That  is  all  I  ask  you — 
at  present." 

Boris  laughed  and  then  checked  his 
laughter. 

"The  lady,"  he  said,  "is  Mademoiselle 
Vseslavitch,  who,  as  you  are  probably 
aware,  lives  no  great  distance  away." 

"So!"  murmured  Paul,  and  he  nodded 
his  head. 

"Yes,"  said  Boris,  "and  if  it  is  of  any 


227 


HIGH    NOON 

interest  to  you  to  know  it,  I  propose  to 
marry  the  lady." 

"Indeed!"  said  Paul. 

He  placed  the  picture  carefully  in  his 
breast-pocket. 

"You  must  forgive  my  being  rude,"  he 
added,  "but  I  should  not  now  be  in  this 
country  if  I  had  not  every  intention  of 
marrying  the  lady  myself." 

Boris  was  a  man  used  to  being  hard  hit. 
He  was  steeled  against  cunningly  and 
swiftly-dealt  blows,  such  as  he  himself 
administered,  but  this  declaration  of  Sir 
Paul's,  that  he  intended  to  marry  Made- 
moiselle Vseslavitch,  took  him  quite  back. 

"Oh!"  he  exclaimed  softly,  and  his 
voice  had  a  certain  note  of  surprise  in  it. 

The  baronet  smiled  a  little  grimly,  but 
his  eyes  were  as  serene  and  as  cold  as 
ever. 

Boris's  "Oh!"  had  told  him  much. 


228 


HIGH    NOON 

He  realized  that  he  had  dealt  his 
host  an  exceedingly  well-landed  blow. 
Then  the  baronet's  smile  died,  for,  fol- 
lowing the  train  of  his  suspicious 
thoughts,  he  instinctively  grasped  and 
held  on  to  the  idea  that  just  as  Boris  had 
been  searching  his  kit-bag  for  the  pur- 
pose  of  blackmail,  so  that  individual  pur- 
posed marriage  with  Mademoiselle  Vses- 
lavitch  to  the  same  end. 

This  notion  disquieted  him  greatly. 

It  disturbed  him  so  much  that  the  hard 
eyes  hardened.  Only  the  baronet's  friends 
knew  that  they  sometimes  hardened  be- 
cause of  the  softness  behind  their  gaze. 

Paul's  heart,  indeed,  rose  in  revolt 
against  the  suggestion  that  this  man 
should  for  a  moment  presume  to  reach 
out  and  touch  the  hand  of  Mademoiselle 
Vseslavitch.  Not  for  such  a  man  as 
Boris  was  the  girl  with  the  calm  yet,  at 

229 


HIGH    NOON 

the  same  time,  troubled  eyes,  that  had 
looked  out  from  the  picture. 

Paul  made  a  shrewd  guess  that  if  Boris 
had  his  hopes  set  on  her,  the  girl  with  the 
dark  hair  and  steadfast  eyes  stood  in  some 
peril. 

The  mere  thought  of  it  quickened  his 
blood,  and  the  quickening  of  his  blood 
livened  his  brain  still  more,  so  that  he 
watched,  almost  cat-like,  the  glance  of 
Boris's  eyes  as  they  followed  the  placing 
of  the  lady's  picture  in  Paul's  pocket. 

For  a  couple  of  minutes  nothing  was 
said.  Each  man  knew  instinctively  that 
he  must  move  to  the  attack,  but  realized 
that  a  mistake  at  the  opening  of  the  game 
might  possibly  spell  disaster. 

It  was  the  baronet  who  broke  the  si- 
lence. 

"No  man,  except  one  such  as  you,"  he 
said,  "would  dream  of  regarding  Made- 


230 


HIGH    NOON 

moiselle  Vseslavitch  as  a  possible  wife 
unless  he  were  so  equipped  with  all  the 
arts  of  blackmail  that  he  had  some  rea- 
son to  hope  for  his  success." 

By  this  time  Boris  had  got  back  his 
composure. 

"You  seem,"  he  said  casually,  "to  en- 
dow me  with  an  exceedingly  poor  char- 
acter." 

"Not  exactly,"  said  Paul.  "I  endow 
you  with  an  exceedingly  dangerous  one." 

There  was  another  pause,  and  the  two 
pairs  of  eyes  sought  each  other,  and  the 
heavy-lidded,  slumberous  eyes  of  Boris 
flickered  and  faltered  beneath  those  of 
Paul. 

"I  am  about  to  present  to  you  an  argu- 
ment," continued  the  baronet,  "which  un- 
swervingly follows  my  present  concep- 
tion. Long  experience  of  this  wicked 
world — by  which  I  mean  that  particular 


231 


HIGH    NOON 

kind  of  vulture-like  humanity  which 
preys  upon  better  men  than  itself — en- 
ables me  to  assume  that  you  are  without 
question  a  blackmailer,  a  bad  blackmail- 
er, and  a  blackmailer  of  no  common  type. 

"But  I  have  also  learnt  this,  that  no 
blackmailer  can  stand  alone.  His  of- 
fence is  the  most  cowardly  offence  in  the 
world.  A  blackmailer  is  always  a  cow- 
ard, and  a  coward  is  invariably  afraid  of 
isolated  action.  I  am  therefore  very  cer- 
tain that  you  do  not  stand  alone  in  this 
attempt." 

It  had  come  upon  Paul  suddenly  that 
this  man  was  connected  in  some  way  with 
the  scene  he  had  witnessed  at  Lucerne — 
that  he  was  the  one  for  whom  the  fat  man 
had  acted  as  agent.  And  then,  in  a  flash, 
he  recalled  the  name  "Boris"  which 
Mademoiselle  Vseslavitch  had  spoken; 
at  that  moment,  too,  Paul  placed  the  per- 


232 


HIGH    NOOK 

sonality  of  the  Frenchman  Virot.  He 
and  the  fat  man  of  Lucerne  were  one. 

Boris's  eyes  left  those  of  Paul  and 
studied  the  panel  behind  the  baronet's 
head. 

"I  should  say,"  Paul  continued,  "that 
you  were  the  headpiece,  the  brain-piece, 
of  a  well-planned  scheme  of  crime." 

The  faint  colour  in  Boris's  face  became 
fainter  still.  Paul  believed  he  was  pur- 
suing the  right  trail. 

"Now  with  such  men  as  yourself — 
mind,  I  am  not  speaking  so  much  from 
knowledge  as  from  an  intuition  as  to  what 
I  should  do  myself  were  I  placed  in  simi- 
lar circumstances — it  is  probable  that 
you  have  sufficient  intelligence,  not  only 
to  rob  your  victims^  but  to  rob  your 
friends. 

"Another  piece  of  life's  philosophy 
that  roughing  it  has  taught  me  is  that  the 


233 


HIGH    NOON 

robber  is  always  poor.  I  come,  therefore, 
to  the  natural  deduction  that  you  are 
hard  up." 

Paul's  whole  expression  of  face 
changed  suddenly.  The  coldness  left  it. 
And  his  keen  eyes  smiled  with  a  smile 
that  invited  confidence  from  the  man  be- 
fore him. 

"Well?"  said  Boris.  "And  what  of  it?" 

"Then,"  Paul  continued  coolly,  "such 
a  sum  as  two  hundred  thousand  roubles 
would  not  come  amiss  to  you.  Such  a  sum 
I  am  prepared  to  pay  you — under  certain 
conditions." 

All  the  pleasantness  in  Paul's  face  van- 
ished again,  and  he  looked  at  Boris  with 
narrowed  eyes. 

"You  realize  that  in  my  offering  you 
such  a  sum,"  he  said,  "it  will,  of  course, 
cost  you  something  to  earn  it.  A  man  who 
speculates  must  spend  his  own  money  to 


234 


HIGH    NOON 

gain  other  people's.  A  criminal — you 
must  forgive  the  word,  but  it  is  necessary 
— who  seeks  to  make  a  great  coup  at  the 
expense  of  others  must  put  up  a  certain 
amount  of  money  to  bring  it  off. 

"I  think,  however,  that  I  am  offering 
you  quite  enough  to  enable  you  to  buy 
either  the  silence  or  the  inactivity  of  your 
fellow  criminals.  Two  hundred  thousand 
roubles  is  a  good  deal  of  money,  and  your 
gang  cannot  be  so  large  that  you  will  not 
be  able  to  afford  a  sufficient  sum  to  render 
them  your  servants." 

"Have  a  care,"  cried  Boris,  angrily,  at 
last;  "you  don't  know  what  you  say." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  demanded  Paul. 

"I  mean,"  said  Boris,  "that  I  do  not 
propose  to  be  insulted  any  longer  in  my 
own  house.  Your  offer  of  money  is  an 
affront  which  you  will  pay  well  for."  He 


235 


HIGH    NOON 

looked  thoughtfully  away  for  a  few  mo- 
ments; then  he  turned  sharply. 

"T  will  be  perfectly  frank  with  you," 
he  said  with  an  amazingly  good  attempt 
at  breezy  honesty.  "All  of  my  friends 
are  not  particularly  nice  people,  and  if 
they  had  any  idea  that  you  were  objec- 
tionable to  me,  not  even  the  consideration 
of  tapping  your  vast  wealth  would  re- 
strain them  from  putting  you  out  of  the 
way." 

"There  is  such  a  thing,"  said  Paul, 
lightly,  "as  killing  the  goose  which  lays 
the  golden  eggs." 

"Yes,"  replied  Boris,  gravely,  "but 
even  a  supply  of  golden  eggs  may  be  re- 
tained at  too  dear  a  price. 

"However,"  he  went  on  with  an  air  of 
gaiety,  "this  is  rather  too  serious  a  mat- 
ter to  consider  to-night.  I  simply  intend- 
ed to  throw  out  a  kindly  hint." 

236 


HIGH    NOOK 

"I'm  sure  you  are  very  good,"  said 
Paul,  with  a  fine  sarcasm.  "I  had  not 
looked  to  you  for  such  consideration." 

Boris  laughed,  showing  his  fine  teeth, 
and  gave  Paul  a  quizzical  look. 

"Don't  you  think,"  he  began  softly, 
"that  you  had  better  turn  back  and  re- 
trace your  steps  to-morrow?" 

Paul  looked  at  him  scornfully. 

"Do  you  think  I  have  set  out  on  this 
errand  to  be  turned  back  by  you?"  he 
said  to  Boris. 

"I  suppose,"  Paul  cried,  with  a  certain 
tone  of  irony  in  his  voice,  "that  you  think 
I  am  a  mere  society  butterfly.  What  do 
you  think  I  care  for  all  the  scented  draw- 
ing-rooms in  the  world^  for  polo,  for 
Hurlingham,  for  a  stuffy  reception  in 
some  great  house  in  town?  Nothing — 
nothing!  Give  me  the  open  prairie  land, 
the  tall,  brown  grass,  the  open  sky,  the 


237 


HIGH    NOON 

joy  of  the  weary  body  that  has  ridden 
hard  all  the  day!" 

He  laughed  shortly. 

"Do  you  think,"  he  continued  to  the 
astonished  Boris,  "that  there  is  any  soft, 
silk-bound  pillow  in  Mayfair  that  could 
appeal  to  me  when  I  could  sleep  under 
the  stars? 

"Heavens!"  He  reached  out  his  arms 
and  brought  them  to  his  sides  again  with 
a  strenuous  motion,  all  his  muscles  con- 
tracted. "I  have  learnt,"  he  cried,  "the 
lesson  that  life  is  not  only  real  and  earn- 
est, but  that  life  is  hard,  that  life  is  a  bat- 
tle— a  battle  to  be  won!" 

His  eyes  fell  upon  his  strong,  sinewy, 
brown  hands,  and  he  clenched  his  fists. 

"I  am  not  going  back  to  England.  I 
am  going  on — to  win  that  girl  of  the  pic- 
ture— from  you!" 

Boris  regarded  him  pleasantly. 


238 


HIGH    NOON 

"It  seems,"  he  said,  "that  you  are  not  in 
a  very  good  humour  this  evening." 

"My  humour  suits  me  very  well,"  an- 
swered Paul.  He  rose  and  walked  over 
to  the  door,  and  held  it  open. 

"For  the  present,"  he  said,  "you  may 
go,  but  if  I  were  you  I  would  be  careful 
how  I  indulged  in  any  villainy." 

Boris  laughed  lightly  as  he  paused  in 
the  doorway. 

"I  am  still  thinking  of  Mademoiselle 
Vseslavitch,"  he  said. 

"Then  you  make  a  vast  mistake,"  Paul 
answered.    "She  is  not  for  you." 

"We  shall  see  what  we  shall  see,"  taunt- 
ingly replied  Boris,  as  he  closed  the  door 
behind  him. 

But  his  remarks  did  not  prevent  Paul, 
when  he  retired,  from  promptly  going  to 
sleep. 


239 


CHAPTER  XXI 

DURING  the  night  Paul  was  awak- 
ened— for  a  moment  he  thought 
he  heard  the  sound  of  some  strug- 
gle in  the  hall  outside  his  door,  and  the 
sound  of  excited  whispers.  Then  a  wom- 
an's voice,  in  low,  forceful  tones,  pene- 
trated the  stillness,  and  Paul  heard  dis- 
tinctly : 

"Come  away,  for  God's  sake!" 

Then  all  was  still. 

Verdayne  was  no  coward — but  his  fin- 
gers closed  instinctively  on  the  butt  of  the 
revolver  that  he  had  placed  within  easy 
reach.  Puzzled,  he  lay  awake  for  a  time 
in  the  darkness,  but  finally  nothing  fur- 
ther happening,  he  fell  asleep  once  more. 

When  he  awoke  the  grey  dawn  was 


241 


HIGH    NOON 

creeping  into  his  windows  and  he  rose 
immediately,  anxious  to  escape  the  eerie 
atmosphere  of  the  house,  and  begin  the 
final  stage  of  his  journey.  What  an  un- 
canny lot  these  Russian  beggars  were,  to 
be  sure. 

He  determined  to  leave  as  unceremo- 
niously as  he  had  come,  and  wrote  a  hasty 
note  which  he  placed  upon  his  dresser 
where  it  could  easily  be  seen.  As  he  stole 
quietly  down  the  long  hall,  in  an  attempt 
not  to  awaken  the  household,  he  came 
suddenly  upon  Mademoiselle  Ivanovitch 
seated  in  a  chair  drawn  into  a  windowed 
recess.  She  started  as  he  came  upon  her, 
but  instantly  recovered  her  calm  poise  of 
the  evening  before. 

Paul  apologized  for  the  stealthy  man- 
ner of  his  leave-taking,  pleading  the  ne- 
cessity of  an  early  start. 

She   listened    to   him   patiently,    then 


242 


HIGH  NOON 

glancing  over  her  shoulder  to  see  that  she 
was  not  observed,  "Forgive  my  being  so 
blunt,"  she  said2  "but  I  think  you  are 
playing  an  exceedingly  dangerous  game. 
You  have  nothing  to  gain  and  everything 
to  lose." 

Paul  turned  to  her  almost  sharply  and 
said :  "Are  you  sure  that  I  have  nothing 
to  gain?" 

She  looked  at  him  quickly,  and  her  eyes 
were  startled;  the  brilliant  colour  had 
left  her  face.  Then  she  caught  the  baro- 
net by  the  coat. 

"Sir  Paul,"  she  cried  in  a  low  voice, 
"you  are  a  young  man.  Do  not  destroy 
your  life  for  a  piece  of  folly.  Cut  your- 
self adrift  from  this  while  there  is  still 
time.  Turn  back,  and  never  come  to  this 
wicked  country  again." 

Paul  took  her  hand  and  looked  at  her 
kindly.     "Thank   you,    thank   you   very 


243 


HIGH    NOON 

much.  But  I  am  moved  to  go,  my  dear 
lady,"  he  said. 

She  made  no  answer  to  Paul's  calmly 
voiced  determination,  save  a  despairing 
gesture,  then  turned  silently  away,  and 
Paul,  after  a  moment,  continued  on  his 
quiet  departure.  The  faithful  Baxter 
had  roused  the  driver  in  good  season  and 
was  waiting  at  the  steps  as  Paul  emerged 
from  the  door.  If  he,  too,  had  had  an 
interruption  in  his  slumbers,  he  gave  no 
sign. 

The  driver,  with  an  awkward  jerk  of 
his  head,  which  Paul  interpreted  as  a 
salutation,  whipped  up  the  horses,  and 
once  more  they  were  on  their  way. 

Not  till  Paul  had  ridden  some  distance 
did  it  strike  him  that  the  lady  of  the  cop- 
per coloured  hair  had  used  his  real  name. 

"The  devil!"  he  said  aloud,  "how  could 
she  have  known  me?"  But  rack  his  mem- 

244 


HIGH    NOON 

ory  as  he  would,  he  could  not  recall  ever 
having  seen  her  before. 

What  did  she  mean  anyhow,  with  her 
words  of  ill-omen?  He  could  not  guess. 
It  was  all  a  mystery. 

Paul  was  scarcely  in  a  happy  frame  ot 
mind  that  day.  He  liked  to  see  his  diffi- 
culties plain  before  him  rather  than  to 
be  hemmed  about  with  mysteries  that  he 
could  not  understand.  And  difficulty 
seemed  to  be  piling  itself  upon  difficulty. 

Much,  of  course,  remained  to  be  ex- 
plained. He  was  not  sure  of  the  different 
parts  which  the  weirdly  associated  people 
whom  he  had  met  that  afternoon  played 
in  Boris's  game.  The  young  man  Mich- 
ael, with  the  large,  cruel,  red  hands,  was 
probably  Boris's  principal  striking  force 
in  times  of  trouble.  Boris  himself,  he 
imagined,  furnished  the  brains. 

But  what  of  the  red-haired  woman? 


245 


HIGH    NOON 

That  she  had  her  part  allotted  to  her  in 
the  strange  drama  unfolding  itself  Paul 
could  not  doubt.    But  what  part? 

Paul  hardly  believed  that  she  was 
really  Boris's  sister. 

But  what  tie  bound  her  to  him?  What 
tie  kept  her  within  the  confines  of  this 
strange  collection  of  human  beings? 

For  a  moment  Paul's  heart  grew  light 
within  him.  Was  she  his  wife?  If  he 
could  but  establish  that,  then  Boris's  boast 
that  he  would  marry  Mademoiselle  Vses- 
lavitch  was  vain  indeed. 

Sir  Paul  was,  indeed,  confronted  by  a 
very  Gordian  knot  of  problems.  He 
laughed  a  little  as  he  made  the  simile  to 
himself,  until  he  reflected  that  he  was  not 
an  Alexander  armed  with  a  sword  who 
could  disperse  the  problems  at  one  blow. 
His,  indeed,  would  be  the  laborious  task 
of   unravelling   them   one  by  one;   nor 

246 


HIGH    NOON 

could  he  see  any  better  way  than  by  be- 
ginning at  the  very  beginning,  which,  so 
far  as  he  was  concerned,  meant  a  full 
knowledge  of  Boris's  intimates  and  sur- 
roundings. 

Not  indeed  till  his  guide  turned  and 
told  him,  some  hours  later,  that  they  were 
nearing  the  Vseslavitch  house  did  Paul 
put  the  matter  out  of  his  mind,  and  then, 
as  they  swung  into  a  long  avenue  bor- 
dered with  pines,  his  thoughts  were  all 
for  the  lady  whom  he  sought. 

The  house  was  a  very  old  one,  built  of 
stone  and  massive  oaken  timbers  which 
showed  the  ravages  of  many  years. 

Paul  gazed  almost  affectionately  at  the 
rambling  mansion  as  it  disclosed  itself  to 
his  eager  eyes — for  did  it  not  shelter  the 
one  who  was  for  him  the  dearest  lady  in 
the  whole  world? 

The  door  opened  quickly  in  answer  to 


247 


HIGH  NOON 

his  knock  and  Paul  found  himself  in  a 
great  hall  furnished  with  a  lavishness 
which  surprised  him,  in  such  an  out  of 
the  way  corner  of  the  world.  On  the 
lofty  walls  hung  priceless  old  engravings, 
and  paintings  on  silk,  with  marvellous 
needlework  cunningly  aiding  the  artist's 
brush.  Paul  had  seen  such  ancient  works 
of  art  in  the  great  Continental  museums 
— but  never  a  collection  like  this.  Bear- 
skin rugs  lay  strewn  about  the  floor,  and 
as  he  warmed  himself  at  the  huge  porce- 
lain stove — for  it  was  a  cool  morning — 
he  admired  them  with  all  the  enthusiasm 
of  an  ardent  sportsman. 

He  turned,  as  a  door  opened  at  the  fur- 
ther end  of  the  room,  and  there  at  last 
stood  his  dear  lady.  With  quick  strides 
Paul  reached  her  and  pressed  her  hand  to 
his  lips.  She  made  no  objection  to  his 
salutation — perhaps  that  custom  was  too 

248 


HIGH    NOON 

prevalent  in  her  own  country  to  bear 
much  significance. 

As  she  first  gazed  at  him  a  glad  smile 
lighted  her  face — and  then  she  grew  quite 
sober. 

"Ah!"  she  said,  "you  have  disobeyed. 
How  could  you?" 

"Dear  lady,"  answered  Paul,  "you  im- 
posed on  me  the  only  command  I  could 
not  follow.  Surely  I  may  be  forgiven,  I 
hope,  for  entering  the  Promised  Land?" 

She  smiled  at  him — almost  sadly,  Paul 
thought,  and  then  she  said,  with  a  far-off 
look  in  her  wonderful  yes,  as  if  she  for- 
got his  presence  for  the  moment — 

"It  is  passing  strange — that  events 
should  take  this  turn — that  you  should 
have  come  at  this  time.  There  are,  I 
know  now,  divinities  that  shape  our 
ends."  And  then  she  turned  to  Paul  and 
said  quickly: 


249 


HIGH    NOON 

"What  madness  has  brought  you  here? 
My  friend^  believe  me,  you  should  never 
have  followed  me.  This  one  day  you  may 
stay — because  I'm  weak — and  then,  I  beg 
of  you,  go  while  there  is  yet  time." 

The  strange  iteration  of  his  earlier 
warning  made  Paul  wonder. 

"Tell  me,"  he  cried,  as  he  looked 
searchingly  into  her  face,  "what  hidden 
meaning  lies  beneath  your  words?  And 
those  of  the  red-haired  woman  at  the 
home  of  Boris  Ivanovitch?"  And  he  re- 
peated to  her  the  other's  warning — al- 
most identical  with  hers. 

"Oh!"  she  gasped,  and  grew  quite 
white,  "you  did  not  stay  at  that  house? 
And  yet  you  are  here?  Thank  God  for 
that"  Then,  though  Paul  pressed  her, 
she  would  say  no  more. 

"Come,"  she  said  after  a  brief  pause, 
"my  brother  is  in  the  library.    You  must 


250 


HIGH    NOON 

know  him."  And  she  led  the  way  through 
a  short  passage  to  a  room  beyond. 

A  handsome  man  of  about  thirty-five, 
who  resembled  Mademoiselle  strikingly, 
rose  as  they  entered. 

"Peter,"  she  said,  "this  gentleman  is 
Sir  Paul  Verdayne.  He  is  an  old  friend 
of  the  Countess  Oreshefski.  I  met  him  at 
her  house  in  Paris.  Sir  Paul  will  be  our 
guest — until  to-morrow,"  she  added. 

The  young  man  grasped  Paul's  hand 
warmly. 

"A  friend  of  the  good  Countess  is  most 
welcome,"  he  exclaimed.  "I  am  only 
sorry  that  your  stay  is  to  be  so  short." 

Clearly,  Mademoiselle  wras  deter- 
mined that  Paul  should  not  remain  with 
them  long. 

"Will  you  pardon  me,  Sir  Paul,"  the 
young  man  continued,  "if  I  leave  you  on 
mv  sister's  hands  for  the  moment?    Our 


251 


HIGH    NOON 

overseer  wishes  to  see  me  on  a  matter  of 
some  importance  and  I  shall  not  be  free 
until  luncheon." 

While  he  was  speaking  a  large  man  en- 
tered— a  wonderfully  fine  specimen  of 
Russian  manhood.  As  he  stood  there, 
proud  but  respectful,  his  flaming  red 
beard  falling  over  his  broad  chest,  he 
looked  like  some  Viking  who  had  just 
stepped  out  of  an  old  myth. 

"Alexander  Andrieff,  our  overseer," 
Peter  explained,  and  the  man  bowed  low 
to  Paul. 

"And  now,  Natalie,  if  you  will  enter- 
tain Sir  Paul  for  the  next  hour  he  will 
perhaps  overlook  my  rudeness." 

"Not  at  all,  sir,"  Paul  interrupted,  "I 
am  the  one  who  should  apologize  for  hav- 
ing so  imposed  upon  your  hospitality." 
And  with  Mademoiselle  Vseslavitch  he 
retired. 


252 


HIGH    NOOK 

So  her  name  was  Natalie!  Paul  liked 
the  name — it  seemed  to  fit  her  excellently. 
And  he  looked  lovingly  at  the  charming 
girl  beside  him. 

"We  will  take  a  stroll  in  the  garden,  if 
it  pleases  you,"  she  suggested. 

Paul  was  delighted.  They  stepped  out- 
side the  house  into  a  large  enclosure  sur- 
rounded by  a  high  stone  wall.  Beyond  a 
small  lake  which  filled  the  center  of  the 
garden,  they  came  to  a  seat  hidden  by 
screening  shrubs  from  the  windows  that 
gave  upon  the  spot. 

As  they  sat  there  under  that  wonderful 
Southern  sky,  with  the  air  laden  with  the 
perfume  of  countless  cherry  blossoms, 
Paul  felt  that*  he  had  been  translated  into 
fairy-land,  and  he  was  almost  afraid  to 
speak  lest  he  break  the  spell  and  suddenly 
find  himself  back  in  blase  Western  Eu- 
rope again. 


253 


HIGH    NOON 

He  took  her  hand  gently  in  both  of  his. 
It  was  a  beautiful  hand,  so  white  and  ten- 
der and  aristocratic.  On  the  third  finger 
was  a  ring  with  a  blue  antique;  on  her 
>  forefinger — worn  in  the  Russian  fashion 
— a  diamond.  It  seemed  a  talisman  to 
Paul,  and  as  he  looked  at  it  he  was  happy. 
Feeling  the  touch  of  these  fingers,  his  rea- 
son stopped  dead  and  a  sweet  dream  came 
over  him — the  continuation,  as  it  were,  of 
some  interrupted  fairy-scene. 

"Beautiful  Princess!"  he  whispered 
softly,  as  he  leaned  toward  her  pale,  smil- 
ing, gentle  face. 

Her  delicately  curved  red  lips  played 
with  mingled  melancholy  and  happiness, 
and  almost  childish  impulse;  and  when 
she  spoke,  the  words  were  deeply  toned, 
sounding  almost  like  sighs,  yet  with  rapid 
and  impetuous  utterance,   like  a  warm 

254 


HIGH    NOON 

shower  of  blossoms  from  her  beauteous 
mouth. 

"My  lover,"  she  said,  and  Paul's  heart 
leaped  with  wild  joy  at  the  words,  "my 
lover  for  this  one  day — listen  while  I  tell 
what  I  can  hide  from  you  no  longer." 

And  then  with  halting  words  she  told 
him  of  her  peril. 

"That  house  where  you  stayed  last 
night,"  she  said,  "it  is  the  home  of  my 
cousin  Boris,"  and  a  sudden  shudder 
passed  over  her  as  she  spoke  the  name. 
"He  has  long  wished  to  marry  me — and 
I  have  steadfastly  refused;  I  cannot  tell 
you  how  I  loathe  him.  It  was  to  escape 
his  importunities  that  I  went  to  Switzer- 
land— and  alas!  now  I  have  come  back, 
at  the  order  of  the  Tsar,  who  commands 
me  to  yield  to  him."  She  paused.  Paul 
drew  her  close  in  tender  sympathy. 

"I  thought  once,"  she  went  on,  "when 


255 


HIGH    NOON 

I  left  Paris  a  week  ago,  that  I  could  force 
myself  to  do  this  hateful  thing.  A  faith- 
ful subject  must  obey  the  Tsar.  But  now 
I  know  not  what  the  outcome  will  be.  I 
cannot  make  up  my  mind  to  consent — and 
Boris  grows  more  impatient  every  day. 
Tell  me,"  she  turned  her  wonderful  eyes 
up  to  Paul — "what  manner  of  people 
had  he  with  him?" 

And  Paul  described  to  his  lady  the  vil- 
lainous Michael  with  the  red  hands,  and 
Virot,  the  oily  Frenchman.  And  as  he 
told  of  Mademoiselle  Ivanovitch,  the 
red-haired  woman,  the  lady's  lip  curled 
scornfully. 

"A  tissue  of  lies!"  she  cried.  "Those 
men  are  the  scum  of  Europe,  blackguards 
of  the  worst  type — the  kind  Boris  has  al- 
ways gathered  round  him  from  his  boy- 
hood. And  the  woman — bahl — he  has  no 
sister.     She  is  but  a  mistress  he  would 

256 


HIGH    NOON 

have  long  since  cast  off  were  it  not  that 
she  sometimes  is  of  assistance  in  his 
wicked  plans. 

Then  Paul  told  her  of  the  disturbance 
of  the  night  before,  and  of  his  encounter 
with  the  woman  that  very  morning. 

Natalie  clasped  Paul's  hand  —  he 
thrilled  beneath  the  sudden  tightening  of 
her  fingers. 

"Ah  I"  she  breathed,  in  sudden  agita- 
tion, "they  must  in  some  way  have  known 
your  mission  all  the  time.  I  tremble  when 
I  think  of  the  peril  you  were  in.  Boris  is 
hot-headed,  and  it  must  have  angered 
him  almost  beyond  endurance  when  he 
knew  that  he  entertained  a  rival  beneath 
his  own  roof.  Some  men,  it  is  said,  have 
entered  that  evil  house  never  to  be  seen 
more  by  mortal  eyes." 

Paul  tried  to  quiet  her  fears.  But, 
though  she  soon  grew  calmer,  he  saw  that 


257 


HIGH    NOON 

a  great  dread  still  lay  upon  her.  And 
even  when  they  returned  to  the  house,  she 
started  apprehensively  at  every  sudden 
sound. 

Paul  found  brother  Peter  to  be  indeed 
a  most  gracious  host.  He  had  been  edu- 
cated in  England,  it  appeared,  and  like 
Paul  was  an  Oxford  man.  Indeed,  the 
two  found  many  things  to  talk  about,  for 
Peter  well  remembered  the  stories  he  had 
heard  of  Paul's  record  as  an  oarsman  on 
the  'Varsity  eight — traditions  of  the  sort 
that  are  handed  down  from  year  to  year 
unto  succeeding  classes. 

But  as  they  talked,  Paul  noticed  that 
Peter's  eyes  often  rested  with  a  troubled 
look  upon  his  sister.  In  fact,  it  seemed  to 
Paul  that  a  black  shadow  of  direful  por- 
tent hung  over  them  throughout  the  meal. 


258 


CHAPTER  XXII 

THAT  afternoon  Paul  and  his  love 
— for  a  day,  as  she  had  told  him — 
walked  down  the  long  avenue  of 
pine-trees.  And  pacing  back  and  forth 
beneath  the  shade  he  told  her  many 
things,  some  of  which  she  knew  already. 

She  could  not  repress  a  smile  as  he  re- 
counted to  her  the  manner  in  which  he 
had  walked  up  and  down  the  terrace  at 
Lucerne,  while — though  he  knew  it  not — 
she  saw  him  from  her  window. 

"And  now,",  he  said  at  last,  pausing  to 
look  down  into  her  dear  face,  "forsake,  I 
beg  of  you,  this  scene  of  trouble.  Leave 
this  strange  land,  half  West,  half  East, 
and  come  away  with  me  to  England. 
There  I  will  try  to  make  you  happy,  and 


259 


HIGH    NOON 

the  day  will  come,  I  hope,  when  you  will 
forget  that  this  threatening  evil  ever  came 
into  your  life.  I  do  not  know  even  yet 
the  reasons  that  seem  to  demand  this  mar- 
riage with  your  cousin.  Cornel  it  shall 
not  be,  even  though  the  Tsar  demands  it. 
By  marrying  me,  you  will  become  a  Brit- 
ish subject,  and  we  then  can  laugh  at  any 
human  will  that  would  take  you  from 
me." 

And  then  he  saw  a  tear  upon  her  lovely 
cheek.  Like  a  pearl  upon  the  snow  it  was. 
Paul  took  her  in  his  arms,  and  her  beauti- 
ful weary  head  sank  upon  his  shoulder. 

"You  weep,  dear  heart!"  he  said  to  her, 
for  she  was  sobbing  softly.  "Surely  this 
dreadful  union  must  not  be.  Come — 
early  to-morrow  we  will  start  for  KiefT, 
and  then — in  a  few  days  more — England 
and  freedom!" 


260 


HIGH    NOON 

She  recovered  quickly  and  shook  her 
head. 

"No!"  she  told  him.  "That  can  not  be. 
To-morrow  morning  you  must  leave  this 
unhappy  place.  To  stay  here  would  be 
of  no  avail.  It  would  only  make  matters 
worse.  Boris  is  furious  now,  I  know. 
And  it  will  only  make  my  lot  harder  if 
you  remain." 

Paul  could  not  move  her  though  he 
pleaded  with  her  for  a  long  time;  and  his 
heart  was  heavy  as  they  at  last  drew  near 
the  house  again. 

That  night,  at  dinner,  Natalie  tried 
bravely  to  be  gay,  but  even  the  brilliancy 
of  her  conversation  and  her  brother's  ef- 
fort to  entertain  his  guest  did  not  conceal 
from  Paul  the  strain  of  the  situatiori.  A 
young  relative,  Alexis  Vseslavitch  by 
name,  was  present  at  the  board,  having 
ridden  in  that  afternoon  from  his  estate 


261 


HIGH    NOON 

back  in  the  hills.  He  was  a  high-spirited 
youth  and  loved  dearly  to  tease  his  cousin 
Natalie.  But  even  he  saw  that  for  once 
an  unusual  restraint  seemed  upon  her. 

Afterward,  they  passed  the  long  even- 
ing in  the  great  hall  where  Paul  had 
waited  in  the  morning.  The  room  was 
ablaze  with  candles — and  even  then  the 
pale  lady  rang  for  a  servant  to  bring  in 
more.  It  was  a  wild  night.  A  storm  had 
come  with  the  darkness,  and  outside  the 
wind  howled  a  savage  symphony  to  ac- 
companying crashes  of  thunder.  Made- 
moiselle sat  by  her  brother,  with  her 
hand  on  the  head  of  an  old  wolf-hound 
which  frequently  looked  up  at  her  in 
dumb  adoration  as  she  chattered  with  the 
men  upon  a  hundred  topics — chiefly 
travel — for  they  all  loved  it 

"Hush,  Moka!"  she  said  to  the  great 
beast  when  he  sprang  up  once  with  a  sud- 

262 


HIGH    NOON 

den  growl.  "He  does  not  like  the  thun- 
der," she  explained.  "Some  people  who 
were  not  welcome  came  here  once,  on  a 
wild  night  like  this,  when  he  was  but  a 
puppy.  They  forced  their  way  into  this 
very  room — and  the  old  fellow  never  has 
forgotten." 

In  spite  of  her  soothing  words,  the  old 
dog  was  restless,  and  when,  as  the  hour 
grew  late,  Paul  said  good-night,  he  no- 
ticed that  the  faithful  brute  was  bristling 
as  with  anger  at  some  unseen  enemy. 

Paul  reached  his  chamber  by  the  light 
of  an  ancient  oil-lamp  held  aloft  by  a  ser- 
vant— a  hulking  chap  of  somewhat  for- 
bidding appearance.  Baxter  had  already 
prepared  Paul's  room  for  the  night  and 
was  not  waiting  for  his  master.  Paul  said 
good-night  to  his  attendant,  and  had 
turned  his  back  upon  the  man — when  he 
heard  a  shout  which  appeared  to  come 

263 


HIGH    NOON 

from  the  hall  below.  He  stopped  short 
and  turned — a  movement  which  he  al- 
ways thought  af terward  must  have  saved 
his  life — to  receive  a  glancing,  though 
still  a  stunning  blow,  from  the  butt  of  a 
revolver. 

Like  a  log,  Paul  fell  with  a  crash  that 
shook  the  room,  and  knew  no  more. 

Paul  was  right.  The  shout  did  come 
from  below.  It  was  Peter's  voice  that 
had  sent  out  that  alarming  cry. 

Paul,  it  seems,  had  been  gone  but  a  few 
minutes,  when  the  door  of  the  great  hall 
was  flung  open  and  a  half-dozen  men 
burst  in.  It  was  then  that  Peter  gave  a 
great  shout  to  alarm  the  household,  and 
in  response  to  which  a  handful  of  ser- 
vants rushed  in,  Alexander  Andrieff,  the 
red-bearded  overseer,  among  them. 

All  the  men  were  masked,   not  only 

264 


HIGH    NOON 

their  foreheads,  but  their  faces  right 
down  to  their  chins  being  hidden  in 
black. 

The  man  who  led  them  stepped  for- 
ward and  ordered  the  servants  back;  and 
they  retreated. 

A  couple  of  armed  and  masked  men 
sufficed  to  keep  the  few  domestics 
penned  in  the  corner.  Two  others  were 
stationed  on  the  stairs  to  check  any  ad- 
vances in  that  direction,  while  two  others 
kept  the  passages  closed  against  all  fur- 
ther comers. 

At  the  head  of  the  intruders  the  leader 
walked  swiftly  towards  Peter,  who  had 
advanced  to  meet  him. 

"Get  back,  Peter  Vseslavitch,"  said  the 
leader,  still  in  a  pleasant  and  easy  voice; 
"get  back,  or  I  will  not  answer  for  your 
life." 


265 


HIGH    NOON 

Peter  checked  himself,  but  craned  his 
head  forward. 

"By  heaven!"  he  said  in  a  low  voice, 
"I  believe  that  is  you,  Boris!" 

"Never  mind  who  I  may  be,  but  keep 
your  tongue  still.  Unless  you  wish  it  to 
be  forever  quieted,  refrain  from  mention- 
ing names  in  my  presence. 

"Now  turn  about,  if  you  please,  and 
get  back  near  the  wall." 

Mademoiselle's  brother  was  a  strong, 
courageous  man.  But  what  may  one  do 
against  such  odds?  He  looked  straight 
and  steadily  at  the  veiled  eyes  of  the  in- 
truder, and  declined  to  turn  about.  So 
for  a  brief  instant  they  stood. 

The  bluster  of  the  storm  had  effec- 
tually drowned  any  noise  of  the  disturb- 
ance except  for  those  who  had  heard 
Peter's  cry  for  help.     Among  them  was 

266 


HIGH    NOON 

Baxter.  At  a  glance,  he  had  taken  in  the 
position  of  affairs. 

Nor  did  he  hesitate  for  a  moment. 
Breaking  into  a  run,  he  dashed  across  the 
hall  toward  a  wall  where  hung  a  heavy 
sword,  an  heirloom  that  had  not  been 
used  for  a  hundred  years.  Before  he 
could  be  stopped  he  tore  it  from  its  fas- 
tenings and  started  toward  the  nearest  of 
the  ruffians,  who  brought  him  to  a  stand- 
still with  a  revolver. 

The  leader  noted  his  progress,  and 
turned  about  and  cried,  "Keep  that  man 
away.    If  he  moves  another  foot — shoot!" 

Baxter  threw  one  contemptuous  glance 
at  Boris  (for  it  was  he)  and  came  on. 
The  man  hesitated  to  fire. 

"Fire!  you  fool,"  shouted  Boris,  but 
the  man  still  held  his  hand  and  hesitated 
so  long  that  Baxter  had  gripped  the  bar- 
rel of  his  revolver  in  his  left  hand  before 


267 


HIGH    NOON 

the  fellow  quite  realized  what  was  hap- 
pening. 

If  the  man  had  scruples,  Boris  had 
none.  His  revolver  spoke  quickly,  and 
Baxter,  with  a  little  cough,  fell  forward 
on  his  face. 

Turning  from  his  butcher's  work, 
Boris  whipped  round  to  meet  the  terror- 
stricken  eyes  of  Mademoiselle  Vsesla- 
vitch. 

"It  is  not  my  fault,"  he  said,  "that  you 
have  been  compelled  to  look  on  this." 

Then  his  voice  rang  out  clear  and  hard. 

"Gentlemen,"  he  cried,  "I  have  no  de- 
sire to  create  further  disturbance.  If  you 
will  listen  to  me  all  will  be  well." 

Turning  for  a  second  to  Peter,  he  said, 
"Get  back  to  the  corner  of  the  room." 

Peter  had  no  other  course  but  to  obey. 

Boris  next  proceeded  to  deal  with  the 
others. 


268 


HIGH    NOON 

"All  of  you,"  he  said  in  a  tone  of  easy 
command,  "all  of  you  get  back  into  the 
corner,  except  Mademoiselle." 

He  watched  the  retreat  through  his 
mask,  and  when  all  had  crowded  together 
at  the  end  of  the  room  he  gave  them  fur- 
ther orders. 

"Let  no  man  move,"  said  he,  "if  he  de- 
sires to  see  another  day-break.  And  if  one 
of  you  stirs  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour  after 
we  leave  this  room,  he  will  be  shot  down 
from  yonder  window  like  a  dog." 

"Now,  Mademoiselle,"  he  cried,  al- 
most gaily,  "take  the  arm  of  my  fascinat- 
ing friend  here.    He  will  escort  you  out." 

Natalie  did  not  move.  Instead  she 
faced  him  with  flaming  eyes,  the  very  pic- 
ture of  defiance,  and  stood  there,  looking 
scornfully  at  Boris  and  his  men. 

"Very  well,"  he  said.  And  he  mo- 
tioned to  a  tall  figure  a  few  paces  distant. 

269 


HIGH    NOON 

Then  a  huge  red  hand  seized  Natalie 
roughly  by  the  arm  and  dragged  her  to 
the  door. 

Peter  and  his  cousin,  and  the  others  in 
the  corner  hesitated,  looking  one  to  an- 
other; then  Alexis,  more  bold  than  the 
rest,  jumped  forward,  crying,  "Never, 
you  dirty  scoundrel!"  And  dashed  across 
the  floor. 

Boris  let  him  come  on,  and  it  said 
something  for  the  coolness  of  the  man  that 
he  did  not  even  fire,  but  waited  till  the 
lad  was  upon  him.  Then  he  swung 
round,  and  catching  him  back  of  the  ear 
with  the  butt  of  his  pistol,  sent  him 
sprawling  senseless  to  the  floor. 

After  that  there  was  no  demonstration 
of  any  kind.  It  was  obvious  that  Boris 
and  his  scoundrels  had  provided  against 
every  contingency  and  had  counted  on 
complete  success. 

27U 


HIGH    NOON 

They  backed  toward  the  door,  through 
which  Michael,  the  pseudo-cousin,  had 
dragged  his  captive,  and  Boris  was  the 
last  to  leave  the  hall.  As  he  stood  there, 
he  made  a  little  bow  of  mockery. 

"Gentlemen,"  he  said,  "I  have  to  thank 
you  for  your  hospitality  and  for  your 
generosity.  With  your  kind  permission 
I  will  now  withdraw." 


271 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

OUT  into  the  storm  Michael  thrust 
the  lady  with  his  murderous 
hands ;  and  at  once,  with  an  ease 
his  great  strength  gave  him,  he  tossed 
her  on  his  horse2  which  was  tied  with 
others  in  the  court-yard.  Then  he  swung 
himself  into  the  saddle^  and  an  in- 
stant later,  when  the  rest  of  the  pack  came 
tumbling  out  into  the  night,  they  were 
off. 

One  wanton  villain — it  was  the  French 
gutter-snipe,  Virot — paused  a  moment  to 
ride  up  to  a  window  of  the  hall  and  dis- 
charge his  revolver  through  the  glass. 
Fortunately  his  aim  was  as  evil  as  his  in- 
tent Beyond  shattering  a  priceless  vase, 
the  bullet  did  no  damage. 


2?3 


HIGH    NOON 

The  night  was  black  as  pitch,  and 
Michael  cursed  his  horse  roundly  as  the 
willing  animal,  jumping  under  the  spur, 
grazed  the  great  gate  as  he  sprang 
through  it.  Soon  they  were  all  out  on  the 
main  road,  where  the  thoroughbred  that 
carried  a  double  burden  settled  down  in- 
to a  long  swinging  stride  that  fairly  de- 
voured the  distance,  league  after  league. 

Looking  out  on  the  country  in  the 
flashes  of  lightning,  Natalie's  heart  gave 
a  little  jump,  for  she  recognized  the  high 
hedges  between  which  they  were  running 
as  those  that  lined  the  great  highway  to 
the  west,  which  led  to  the  chateau  her 
cousin  maintained,  a  day's  journey  dis- 
tant from  his  shooting  lodge  near  her 
own  family  estate.  They  were  taking  her 
there,  then!  And  her  heart  sank  at  the 
thought. 

Nor  was  she  wrong.  For  at  last,  after  a 

274- 


HIGH    NOON 

cruel  fide,  in  svhich  they  covered  the 
jonrnej  in  fralf  the  usual  time,  the  steam- 
ing, panting  horses  were  urged  up  a 
smooth  road,  which  climbed  in  curves  up 
the  face  of  a  steep  hill.  Then  they  came 
to  a  small  plateau  and  stopped  soon  be- 
fore a  gate  on  which  someone  knocked 
loudly. 

Several  fierce  dogs  began  baying. 
Light  began  to  show  in  the  east  now,  and 
Natalie  saw  a  man  push  open  the  mas- 
sive gate.  Then,  in  another  minute,  she 
was  in  the  chateau. 

In  a  waiting-room,  which  projected 
over  a  vast  cliff,  Boris  faced  his  captive. 
As  he  stood  there  a  woman  entered — the 
red-haired  creature  whom  Boris  had  in- 
troduced to  Paul  as  his  sister. 

He  beckoned  her  to  draw  near. 

"This,"  he  said  to  Natalie,  "is  Madame 
Estelle.     You   see,    I    have   provided    a 


275 


HIGH    NOON 

chaperone,"  he  remarked  with  something 
like  a  sneer. 

Natalie  looked  coldly  at  the  two,  but 
said  nothing. 

Madame  Estelle  flushed  slightly  under 
Natalie's  scornful  scrutiny  as  she  led  the 
way  into  an  immense  dining-room. 

To  reach  this  room  they  had  traversed 
a  long  passage,  and  Natalie  appreciated 
the  fact  that  the  chateau  was  very  curi- 
ously built.  It  consisted,  indeed,  of  two 
portions,  which  were  linked  together  by 
a  long  stone-flagged  corridor. 

Boris  helped  himself  liberally  to  neat 
brandy,  while  Madame  Estelle  sent  for  a 
servant  and  told  him  to  order  tea. 

Natalie  had  been  filled  with  an  intense 
foreboding  as  she  entered  the  house,  a 
foreboding  which  increased  as  she  slowly 
recognized  that  she  and  Madame  Estelle 

276 


HIGH    NOON 

were  apparently  the  only  women  in  the 
place. 

For  the  tea  was  brought  in  by  a  man, 
not  a  farmhand  or  an  honest  countryman, 
but  a  villainous-looking  individual  with 
a  pock-marked  face  and  little  gold  ear- 
rings in  the  lobes  of  his  frost-bitten  ears. 
He  walked  with  his  feet  wide  apart,  and 
with  a  slightly  rolling  gait.  He  had  an 
immense  bull  neck,  and  the  hands  with 
which  he  grasped  the  tray  were  large, 
grimy  and  hairy.  Natalie  set  him  down 
as  a  sailor;  nor  was  she  wrong. 

When  tea  was  over,  Boris  lit  a  cigar- 
ette, and  drawing  Madame  Estelle  on  one 
side  conversed  with  her  for  some  time  in 
whispers. 

At  the  end  of  the  conference  between 
the  two  the  woman  left  the  room  without 
so  much  as  a  word  to  Natalie  or  even  a 
glance  in  her  direction. 


277 


HIGH    NOON 

Boris  turned  round  with  a  baleful  light 
in  his  eyes. 

"Now,  my  lady,"  he  said,  "we  can  have 
this  matter  out." 

Natalie's  afflictions  had  only  increased 
her  old  habit  of  command  and  her  natu- 
ral dignity.  Though  in  reality  she  was 
the  prisoner,  she  might  have  been  the 
captor. 

"Before  you  speak,  Boris,"  she  said,  "I 
also  have  something  to  say.  How  long  do 
you  intend  to  keep  me  here?  I  ask  this, 
not  for  my  own  sake,  but  for  my  broth- 
er's." 

"That,"  said  Boris,  with  a  malicious 
grin,  "depends  entirely  on  yourself." 

"By  this  time,  of  course,"  Natalie  con- 
tinued, "a  great  hue-and-cry  will  have 
been  raised  after  me.  Again  I  ask  this 
question  for  my  brother's  sake.  He  should 
be  informed  of  my  whereabouts  at  once ; 

278 


HIGH    NOON 

for  you  must  remember  that  he  will  take 
this  very  much  to  heart" 

"He  will  not  be  informed  of  your 
whereabouts  at  present,"  said  Boris, 
shortly.  "Because,"  he  continued,  with  a 
villainous  leer,  "I  am  only  cruel  to  be 
kind.  I  want  to  have  all  the  details  of 
our  marriage  settled  as  soon  as  possible. 
A  night  of  waiting  will  soften  your  dear 
brother's  heart,  and  he  will  probably  lis- 
ten to  reason  in  the  morning." 

Natalie  shuddered  and  drew  a  little 
further  away  from  Boris.  "You  coward," 
she  said,  and  looked  at  him  with  infinite 
contempt. 

Again  a  dangerous  light  leapt  into  his 
eyes. 

"Have  a  care,"  he  cried,  "what  names 
you  call  me  here.  I  do  not  wish  to  be 
compelled  to  make  you  feel  your  position. 
But  if  necessary  I  shall " 


279 


HIGH    NOON 

Natalie  did  not  take  her  scornful  eyes 
from  his  face2  and  Boris  at  last  looked 
shiftily  away. 

As  he  apparently  did  not  intend  to 
speak  again,  she  put  to  him  another  ques- 
tion: 

"Who  is  the  woman,"  she  asked,  "you 
have  here  with  you?" 

"That  is  no  business  of  yours,"  snarled 
Boris,  "though  you  can,  if  you  wish  to 
speak  to  or  allude  to  her,  call  her  Ma- 
dame Estelle,  as  I  introduced  her  to 
you." 

"I  merely  asked,"  said  Natalie,  "be- 
cause I  was  curious  to  know  how  she 
came  to  be  associated  with  a  rascal  like 
you." 

"Ah !  my  dear  cousin,  that  is  something 
you  will  understand  better  a  little  later." 
He  said  this  with  an  insinuating  air 
which  filled  Natalie  with  loathing. 


280 


HIGH    NOON 

"Boris,"  she  said  coldly,  "I  decline  al- 
together to  allow  you  to  insult  me." 

She  turned  her  back  on  him,  and  Boris 
swore  at  her  without  disguise.  But  she 
paid  no  heed. 

Presently  he  walked  round  the  room  so 
that  he  could  come  face  to  face  with  her. 

"It  is  early,"  he  said,  "but  early  hours 
will  do  you  good.  If  you  will  be  so  kind 
as  to  accompany  me  I  will  show  you  to 
your  room." 

He  led  the  way  up  three  flights  of 
stairs  till  they  came  to  a  small  landing. 
Out  of  this  there  opened  only  one  door, 
and  through  this  Boris  passed. 

Natalie  now  found  herself  in  a  large, 
square  room,  simply  and  yet  fairly  well 
furnished,  partly  as  a  bedroom  and  partly 
as  a  sitting-room. 

"It  is  here,"  said  Boris,  "that  I  am  un- 

281 


HIGH    NOON 

fortunately  compelled  to  ask  you  to  make 
your  decision. 

"You  are  at  perfect  liberty  to  scream 
to  your  heart's  content.  There  is  no  one 
here  who  will  mind  in  the  least.  You  are 
also  at  perfect  liberty  to  make  what  ef- 
forts at  escape  you  choose.  I  fear  that 
you  will  only  find  them  futile." 

He  went  out  quickly  and  closed  the 
door  after  him.  Natalie,  listening  in  the 
badly-lighted  room,  could  hear  a  key 
grate  in  the  lock  and  bolts  shot  in  both  at 
the  top  and  the  bottom  of  the  door. 

Quickly  and  methodically  she  made  an 
examination  of  her  prison.  She  looked 
into  the  cupboards  and  into  the  drawers 
and  the  massive  bureau.  But  there  was 
nothing  about  the  room  of  the  remotest 
interest  to  her  which  offered  the  faintest 
suggestion,  sinister  or  otherwise. 

It  was,  indeed,  only  when  she  looked 

282 


HIGH    NOON 

out  of  the  windows,  of  which  there  were 
three,  that  she  discovered  to  the  full  how 
utterly  helpless  was  her  position. 

The  window  on  the  south  side  was  ap- 
parently over  the  window  of  the  dining- 
room,  and,  as  she  peeped  over  the  sill, 
looked  sheer  down  the  face  of  the  preci- 
pice beneath  her. 

The  west  window,  she  found,  looked 
down  into  a  stone  courtyard,  while  the 
window  on  the  east  overhung  the  moat. 
Apparently  she  was  imprisoned  in  a 
tower. 

When  Boris  had  reached  the  ground 
floor  he  sought  out  Madame  Estelle,  and 
drew  a  chair  to  the  table  at  which  Ma- 
dame sat  at  breakfast. 

"Estelle,"  he  said,  "the  crisis  in  our 
fortunes  has  arrived  to-day.  I  want  all 
the  help  you  can  give  me,  and  you  will 
want  all  your  nerve." 

283 


HIGH    NOON 

Madame  Estelle  eyed  him  calmly. 

"Indeed,"  she  said.  "But  even  though 
the  crisis  in  our  fortunes  arrived  within 
the  next  ten  minutes  there  are  certain 
questions  which  I  must  ask  you  first." 

Boris  fidgeted  impatiently.  He  real- 
ized that  he  could  no  longer  baulk  the 
question  of  Natalie,  and  the  sooner  he 
got  himself  out  of  the  difficulty  the  better 
for  his  day's  work.  He  had  all  along 
concealed  from  Estelle  the  fact  that  he 
meant  to  marry  his  cousin. 

"Boris,"  said  Madame,  stretching  out 
her  right  hand  and  brushing  Boris's 
lightly  with  her  fingers,  are  you  playing 
me  false?" 

"Playing  you  false?'  he  cried,  with  a 
fine  show  of  indignation.  "What  do  you 
mean?" 

"I  mean  that  either  you  have  told  me 
too  much  or  too  little.    If  I  am  to  believe 


28.1 


HIGH    NOON 

you,  this  girl  we  hold  is  worth  at  least 
half  a  million  roubles  to  us.  You  say  you 
are  certain  of  the  money,  and  that  the  mo- 
ment it  is  yours  we  are  to  be  married  and 
leave  this  miserable  mode  of  life.  If  this 
is  so  I  am  content.  But  now  I  suspect 
something  else.  Is  it  not  true  that  as  part 
of  the  bargain  you  are  to  be  permitted 
to  marry  her?" 

Boris  jumped  out  of  his  chair. 

"It's  a  lie!"  he  shouted,  "and  I'll  take 
my  oath  that  that  rattle-brained  fool  Ver- 
dayne  is  responsible  for  your  stupid  fan- 
cies." 

"But  are  they  fancies?"  urged  Ma- 
dame. 

"Fancies!  Of  course  they  are  fancies. 
What  good  do  you  think  it  would  do  me 
to  be  tied  to  a  girl  like  that?  Surely  half 
a  million  should  content  any  man.  I 
wish  to  be  free  to  pursue  my  life  with 

285 


HIGH    NOON 

you.  The  sooner  indeed  I  am  free  from 
all  this  business  the  better." 

Madame  Estelle  looked  greatly  trou- 
bled. 

"Are  you  sure,  Boris,"  she  asked  again, 
"that  this  is  absolutely  true?  Oh!  be 
sure  that  I  dislike  to  distress  you  in  this 
way,  but  I  cannot  help  it." 

"My  dear  Estelle,"  Boris  cried,  with  a 
greater  show  of  tenderness  than  he  had 
yet  exhibited,  "surely  I  have  been  true 
enough  and  faithful  enough  all  these 
years  for  you  to  believe  me  now.  Indeed, 
you  must  believe  in  me,  because  if  you 
don't  believe  in  me  and  give  me  your  sup- 
port the  cup  of  happiness  which  is  so 
near  our  lips  may  be  dashed  away  from 
them. 

"Wait!"  he  went  on,  "and  see  whether 
I  am  speaking  the  truth  or  not." 

286 


HIGH    NOON 

Nevertheless,  Madame  was  restless  and 
ill  at  ease. 

"If  I  had  seen  that  girl  before  to-day," 
she  said,  "I  should  never  have  entered 
into  this  business  with  you." 

"Then  you  would  have  been  a  fool," 
said  Boris,  rudely. 

"Possibly,  but  still,  even  at  the  risk  of 
your  displeasure,  there  are  a  few  things 
which  I  do  not  care  to  do." 

Boris  glanced  at  her  sharply. 

"Of  course,"  she  continued,  "it  is  too 
late  now.  I  have  made  up  my  mind,  and 
we  will  go  through  with  it,  but  frankly, 
I  don't  like  this  business." 

"Never  mind,"  said  Boris;  "it  will  not 
last  forever.  To-morrow  ought  to  settle 
it." 

As  Madame  at  this  point  started  to 
leave  the  room,  Boris  enjoined  her  to  si- 
lence;  and   though    Madame   promised 

287 


HIGH    NOON 

that  she  would  not  discuss  his  affairs  with 
Natalie,  she  was,  if  the  truth  were  told, 
not  quite  decided  whether  she  wouF 
keep  her  word. 

Then  Boris  sent  for  Michael. 

"Mark  you,  Michael,"  he  said,  "I  will 
have  no  hanky-panky  games  in  this  house. 
And,  mark  you,  too,  I  have  no  desire  to 
have  Madame  Estelle  and  Mademoiselle 
Vseslavitch  becoming  too  friendly.  You 
never  can  rely  on  women.  They  are  funny 
creatures,  and  Madame  is  far  too  sympa- 
thetic with  the  girl  already.  So  I  shall 
look  to  you  to  stop  anything  of  that  sort. 

"For  the  rest,  you  will  know  what  to 
do  if  certain  contingencies  should  arise. 
I  have  not  brought  the  dogs  here  for 
nothing."  He  broke  off  and  shuddered 
a  little  himself  as  at  some  short  distance 
from  the  house  he  could  hear  the  baying 
of  the  great  hounds. 

288 


HIGH    NOON 

"They  are  loose,  I  suppose?"  he  asked. 

Michael  nodded. 

"Then  Heaven  help  the  stranger,"  he 
rejoined  with  a  cruel  laugh,  and  pulling* 
a  rug  over  himself  he  lay  down  to  sleep 
on  the  sofa. 


289 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

BORIS  had  left  no  instructions  in 
regard  to  Mademoiselle's  food, 
and  as  she  did  not  consider  it 
advisable  to  let  the  unfortunate  girl 
starve,  Madame  set  a  tray,  with  the  inten- 
tion of  carrying  it  up  to  Natalie's  room. 

Before  she  could  do  this,  however,  it 
was  necessary  to  send  for  Michael  in  or- 
der to  obtain  the  key. 

When  she  asked  for  it,  he  shifted  un- 
easily from  one  foot  to  the  other. 

"I  have  very  strict  orders,"  he  said. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  Madame  de- 
manded sharply.    "What  do  you  mean?" 

"Simply  that  the  master  said  that  you 
and  the  young  lady  were  not  to  get  talk- 
ing too  much.     He  said  nothing  about 

29 1 


HIGH    NOON 

food,  or  of  waiting  on  her  highness,  and 
it  didn't  occur  to  me  until  this  morning 
that  it  was  a  bit  awkward  for  a  chap  like 
myself  to  wait  on  her. 

"However,"  he  added,  with  a  smirk, 
"I  don't  so  much  mind." 

But  Michael's  clumsy  utterances  had 
aroused  all  Madame's  sleeping  suspic- 
ions. There  was  no  reason  why  she 
should  keep  silence. 

She  laughed  in  Michael's  face. 

"It  was  hardly  necessary  for  your  mas- 
ter to  give  you  any  orders,  seeing  that  he 
gave  certain  instructions  to  me.  He  said 
that  since  there  was  no  other  woman  in 
the  house  it  would  be  my  place  to  take 
Mademoiselle  anything  that  she  actually 
needed.  I  am  going  to  take  up  her  break- 
fast now.    Give  me  the  key." 

Michael  hesitated  a  moment,  but  final- 


292 


HIGH    NOON 

ly  handed  over  the  key.  Madame  put  it 
on  the  breakfast  tray  and  went  upstairs. 

Natalie,  as  she  heard  the  bolts  drawn 
back  and  the  key  turned  in  the  lock,  suf- 
fered fresh  apprehension.  For  she  had 
caught  the  rustle  of  Madame's  skirts  out- 
side, and  she  would  rather  have  faced 
Boris  than  the  woman. 

With  very  little  apology  Madame  Es- 
telle  entered,  and,  setting  the  breakfast 
down,  immediately  withdrew. 

In  half  an  hour's  time  she  went  up  for 
the  tray,  and  then  she  faced  Natalie  bold- 
ly and  looked  her  in  the  eyes. 

"Mademoiselle,"  she  said,  "I  am  really 
ashamed  to  meet  you  here  in  such  a  way. 
I  will  not  ask  you  to  forgive  me,  for  you 
will  not  understand.  I  can  only  tell  you 
that  I  am  a  very  loving  and  also  a  very 
jealous  woman." 

Madame  Estelle  paused,  and  was  con- 


293 


HIGH    NOON 

scious  that  Natalie  looked  at  her  in  great 
surprise. 

"I  want,"  she  continued,  "to  ask  you  a 
question  which  means  much  to  me.  Is  it, 
or  is  not,  one  of  Boris  Ivanovitch's  condi- 
tions that  you  shall  marry  him?" 

"Yes,"  answered  Natalie,  very  quietly, 
"it  is." 

Madam's  rather  flushed  face  grew 
white,  and  her  eyes  blazed  with  passion. 
She  clenched  her  fists  and  beat  the  air 
with  them. 

"Oh,  the  liar!"  she  cried,  "the  liar!  Oh! 
it  is  hard  to  be  treated  like  this  when  I 
have  done  so  much  for  him." 

Natalie  drew  back,  startled  and 
amazed. 

"I  assure  you  that  you  need  have  no 
fear  so  far  as  I  am  concerned.  Both  my 
brother  and  myself  have  refused  to  com- 


294 


HIGH    NOON 

ply  with  that  condition,  and  we  shall  re- 
fuse to  the  end." 

Madame,  however,  paid  but  little  heed 
to  Natalie;  she  was  beside  herself  with 
rage. 

"Ah,  ah!"  she  cried,  "wait  till  he  re- 
turns!   Til  kill  him!    Til  kill  him!" 

So  distorted  with  fury  was  the  woman's 
face  that  Natalie  became  alarmed  for  her 
sanity.  She  drew  near  to  her  and  endea- 
voured to  catch  her  hands  in  her  own,  im- 
ploring her  to  be  calm. 

By-and-by  Madame  Estelle  listened  to 
her,  and  in  a  sudden  revulsion  of  feeling 
fell  on  her  knees,  sobbing  bitterly. 

Natalie  bent  over  her,  doing  her  best 
to  console  her.  and  presently,  as  the  wom- 
an grew  calmer,  she  endeavoured  to  turn 
the  situation  to  her  own  advantage. 

"The  best  way  to  defeat  his  scheme," 
she  urged,  "is  to  release  me." 


295 


HIGH    NOON 

But  at  that  Madame  Estelle  leaped  to 
Rer  feet. 

"Ah!  not  that,"  she  cried,  "not  that!  If 
I  distrust  him,  I  distrust  you  still  more. 
Your  pretty  face  may  look  sad  and  sor- 
rowful, and  you  may  declare  to  me  that 
you  will  never  consent,  but  I  will  wait 
and  see.  I'll  wait  until  Boris  returns  and 
confront  you  with  him.  Then  perhaps  I 
shall  learn  the  real  truth." 

Natalie  made  a  little  despairing  ges- 
ture with  her  hands;  argument,  she  saw, 
would  be  useless. 

Gathering  herself  together,  Madame 
blundered,  half  blind  with  tears,  out  of 
the  room,  and  Natalie  with  a  sinking 
heart  heard  the  bolts  drawn  again. 

All  through  the  day  Estelle  sat  brood- 
ing, sending  Natalie's  lunch  and  tea  up 
to  her  by  Michael. 

All  the  evening  she  still  sat  and  brood- 

296 


HIGH    NOON 

ed,  until  she  had  worked  herself  up  into 
a  hysteria  of  rage. 

It  was  long  after  dark  when  a  knock 
sounded  on  her  door.    It  was  Boris. 

"Ahl"  she  cried,  as  he  entered,  "what 
do  you  think  I  have  gone  through?  What 
do  you  think  I  have  suffered?  What  do 
you  think  I  have  found  out?" 

Boris  looked  at  her  in  alarm. 

"Is  it  Mademoiselle?"  he  asked.  "Is 
she  safe?" 

"Safe!  Oh,  yes,  she  is  safe,"  she  cried, 
with  a  peal  of  uncanny  laughter.  "Safe 
for  your  kisses  and  for  your  caresses.  Oh, 
you  liar!  you  liar!  I  have  been  true  to 
you  in  all  respects,  and  you  have  been 
false  to  me  in  everything  that  mattered. 
So  you  will  marry  the  pretty  Natalie, 
will  you?  Oh,  but  you  won't!  Never! 
Never!" 

She  rushed  at  Boris,  as  though  to  strike 

297 


HIGH    NOON 

him,  but  Boris,  jaded  though  he  was,  was 
quick  and  strong. 

He  caught  her  brutally,  as  he  might  a 
dog,  by  the  neck,  and  threw  her  into  the 
dining-room,  the  door  of  which  stood 
open,  and,  utterly  careless  as  to  what 
harm  he  might  do  to  her,  sent  the  un- 
happy woman  sprawling  onto  the  floor. 
In  a  second  he  had  banged  the  door  to 
and  turned  the  key  in  the  lock. 

He  heard  Estelle  pick  herself  up  and 
hurl  herself  in  blind  and  impotent  fury 
against  the  door. 

He  listened  as  shriek  after  shriek  of 
frenzy  reached  his  ears. 

Up  in  the  tower  Natalie  heard  these 
shrieks,  too,  and  shuddered.  A  horrible 
fear  took  possession  of  her  heart  that 
there  was  murder  being  done  below. 

She  sat  on  the  edge  of  her  bed  with  her 

298 


HIGH    NOON 

hands  pressed  to  her  heart,  listening  in 
fascinated  horror. 

The  shrieks  died  away,  and  there  was 
complete  silence  in  the  house  for  full  half 
an  hour. 

Then  she  heard  a  sudden  shout,  a  crash- 
ing of  glass  and  a  scrambling,  tearing 
noise,  the  hideous  bay  of  the  boarhounds 
in  the  courtyard,  a  scream,  and  a  thud. 

Stabbing  the  other  noise  with  sharp 
precision  came  the  sound  of  shots. 


2Q9 


CHAPTER  XXV 

MEANWHILE,  at  the  estate  of 
Peter  Vseslavitch,  the  day- 
dawned  clear  and  fine — but  up- 
on what  a  scene  of  uproar! 

All  night  the  household  had  been 
corked  up  as  if  tight  in  a  bottle — as  far 
as  following  the  marauders  was  con- 
cerned; for  when,  a  few  minutes  after 
that  last  intimidating  shot  of  Virot's,  they 
had  burst  out  of  the  house  and  run  quick- 
ly to  the  stables,  it  was  only  to  discover 
that  all  the  horses  were  gone. 

"By  the  ever-to-be-praised  apostles!" 
swore  Andrieff,  his  red  beard  wagging  in 
impotent  rage,  "the  devils  have  turned 
the  horses  loose  on  the  steppe.  Every  box 
is  empty!" 


301 


HIGH    NOON 

It  was  true — and  almost  frantic  with 
distress  Peter  and  the  overseer  had  been 
forced  to  turn  back  into  the  house  to  wait 
till  daybreak. 

Well!  there  was  work  there  for  them 
while  they  waited.  Paul  and  the  lad 
Alexis  were  soon  brought  back  to  con- 
sciousness with  nothing  more  serious  than 
badly  swollen  and  throbbing  heads.  But 
poor  Baxter  still  lay  in  a  heap  on  the 
floor.  He  seemed  not  to  have  stirred. 
And  Peter  thought,  as  he  knelt  over  him, 
that  he  would  never  move  again. 

They  lifted  his  sagging  body  to  a  couch 
and  then  Andrieff,  who  was  something  of 
an  amateur  surgeon,  examined  him  care- 
fully. 

The  bullet  had  ploughed  a  furrow  just 
above  his  temple;  but  after  some  probing 
Andrieff  decided  it  had  passed  on  without 
penetrating  the  skull.    His  heart  was  still 


302 


HIGH    NOON 

beating  faintly  and  they  forced  spirits  be- 
tween his  lips  until  after  a  time  he  re- 
vived. Paul  himself  helped  put  the 
wounded  man  in  bed  and  would  not  leave 
him  until  he  saw  that  Baxter  had  dropped 
off  into  a  natural  sleep. 

Then  with  the  others  he  paced  the  floor 
impatiently  until  it  began  to  grow  light. 
There  were  four  of  them — and  with  the 
help  of  as  many  more  trusty  servants  they 
felt  they  could  give  Boris  and  his  crew  a 
pretty  fight — if  they  could  only  find  him! 

Not  till  they  came  to  decide  on  what 
men  they  would  take  with  them  did  Paul 
recall  how  he  had  been  disposed  of 
earlier  in  the  night. 

"That  big  moujik  who  showed  me  to 
my  room  last  evening I"  he  cried  suddenly, 
turning  to  Peter.  "Where  is  the  dog?  It 
was  he  who  struck  me  down  I" 

"By  the  Lord!"  exclaimed  Andrieff, 


303 


HIGH    NOON 

"that  explains  why  the  horses  are  gone! 
The  cur  is  a  traitor!  I'll  cut  his  heart  out 
this  day!" 

"He  took  old  Moka  out  of  the  room, 
too,  do  you  remember?"  Peter  asked.  "He 
must  have  been  in  Boris's  pay  all  the 
while — the  man  has  been  with  us  but  a 
short  time.  Oh!  if  I  could  but  get  my 
hands  upon  his  villainous  throat!"  But  of 
what  avail  were  imprecations?  The  four 
men  finally  ceased  to  talk,  but  the  fierce 
determination  which  grimly  lighted  each 
face,  boded  ill  for  Boris'  cut-throat  gang, 
when  they  should  be  come  up  with,  on 
the  morrow. 

At  last  day  dawned,  and  as  soon  as  they 
could  catch  horses  enough — the  brutes 
had  wandered  back  toward  the  stables  as 
it  became  lighter — they  were  off. 

The  heavy  rain,  which  had  kept  up 
nearly  all  the  night,  had  completely  oblit- 

304 


HIGH    NOON 

erated  the  fugitives'  tracks.  Without  a 
trail  their  first  step  seemed  to  be  to  visit 
the  shooting-lodge  whence  Boris  had 
made  his  sally. 

Two  hours'  hard  riding  brought  them 
to  the  place.  It  looked  deserted,  but  Paul 
rode  his  horse  close  to  the  door  and 
knocked  viciously  upon  it.  There  was  no 
response. 

"It  seems,"  said  Peter,  with  a  politeness 
that  his  looks  belied,  "that  our  friends  are 
not  at  home." 

Verdayne's  answer  sounded  very  much 
like  an  oath.  He  gave  the  door  one  final 
kick,  and  finding  his  rough  summons  in- 
effectual, turned  to  his  companions. 

"Look  you  P  he  said.  "I  am  not  at  all 
sure  that  this  house  is  as  empty  as  it  seems. 
I'm  going  to  ride  alongside  the  garden 
wall  so  that  I  can  climb  over  the  top.  I 
want  to  go  investigating." 


305 


HIGH    NOON 

In  a  twinkling  he  had  put  his  plan  into 
execution  and  dropped  over  the  wall  into 
the  garden.  He  walked  round  the  house 
and  found  it  shuttered,  dark  and  silent. 
He  whistled  a  long  whistle  to  himself. 

"I  wonder,"  he  thought,  "if  all  the 
birds  have  flown.  I  wonder  if  they  really 
have  left  the  house  entirely  empty."  Just 
then  Andrieff  joined  him,  and  putting 
their  shoulders  against  the  rear  door  that 
opened  into  the  garden,  they  easily  forced 
an  entrance.  With  drawn  revolvers  they 
leaped  inside,  and  began  to  prowl  about 
the  place.  Finally  in  a  wardrobe  on  an 
upper  floor  they  discovered  a  servant  hid- 
ing. As  they  dragged  him  out  at  first  he 
showed  fight,  but  one  blow  from  An- 
drieffs  sledge-like  fist  beat  him  into  sub- 
mission, and  in  another  moment  they  had 
him  pinned  against  the  wall. 

306 


HIGH    NOON 

"Tell  me  where  your  master  is,"  said 
Andrieff  in  a  fierce  voice. 

The  man  remained  silent. 

"Tell  me,"  he  said  again,  "and  tell  me 
quickly.  Tell  me  at  once  or  you  will  re- 
gret it" 

The  man  gave  a  sudden  wrench  and 
twisted  one  of  his  arms  free.  He  reached 
out  and  grasped  a  heavy  silver  candle- 
stick. 

But  Andrieff  was  too  quick  for  him. 
He  dealt  him  a  blow  on  the  muscles  of  his 
shoulder  which  half  paralyzed  the  crea- 
ture's arm.  The  candlestick  dropped  with 
a  clatter  from  his  hand. 

Then  Andrieff  gave  his  pent-up  pas- 
sion full  play,  and  it  was  a  miracle  that 
he  did  not  kill  his  man. 

He  wrenched  an  antimacassar  from  a 
chair  and  used  it  as  a  gag.  With  one 
powerful  hand  he  dragged  the  captive  by 


07 


HIGH    NOON 

the  neck  to  the  window;  with  the  other 
he  threw  up  the  casement  and  whistled 
sharply  for  Peter,  who  soon  came  run- 
ning up  the  stairs  and  through  the  open 
door. 

"We'll  bind  this  cur,"  said  the  overseer 
through  his  teeth,  and  he  thrust  the  man 
back  into  a  deep,  cane-hooded  chair. 
Then  he  and  Peter  securely  lashed  the 
man's  feet  together,  tying  his  hands  be- 
hind his  back. 

This  work  done,  they  paused  and  lis- 
tened; but,  in  spite  of  the  scuffle  there 
had  been,  there  was  no  sound  of  ap- 
proaching footsteps,  nor,  indeed,  any  sign 
that  they  had  been  overheard. 

"Now,  then,"  said  he  of  the  red  beard, 
"heat  that  poker  in  the  fire." 

Peter  quickly  thrust  the  poker  between 
the  bars  of  the  grate1  in  which  the  coals 
were  red. 

308 


HIGH    NOON 

"Stoi!"  cried  the  man— "Stop!"  They 
have  gone  to  the  old  Chateau  Ivano- 
vitch." 

"If  you're  lying,"  said  Andrieff,  "we'll 
come  back  and  cut  you  into  ribbons  for 
the  dogs." 

"By  the  beard  of  my  father,"  the  man 
gasped,  "I  am  telling  you  the  truth.  God 
strike  me  if  I  am  not!"  and  he  looked  at 
the  reddening  poker  with  frightened  eyes. 

"I  believe  the  hound  speaks  truly," 
said  Peter.  "Come!  we  have  no  time  to 
waste  here."  Leaving  the  whimpering 
peasant  tied,  they  hurried  down  to  the 
court-yard,  and  soon  were  in  the  saddle 
again. 

The  splendid  animals  they  rode  re- 
sponded nobly.  They  were  of  a  famous 
Arabian  strain,  which  his  grandfather 
had  introduced  into  his  stable  many  years 
before,  and  Peter,  who  led  the  little  band, 


309 


HIGH    NOON 

did  not  spare  them.  On  and  on  they  raced, 
but  it  was  late  afternoon  when  they 
neared  the  end  of  the  trail,  for  several 
hours  had  been  consumed  in  the  detour  to 
the  hunting-lodge. 

About  a  half  mile  from  the  foot  of  the 
eminence  on  which  the  chateau  stood, 
they  came  to  a  halt,  and  after  a  short  con- 
sultation decided  it  would  be  best  to  wait 
till  after  dark  before  trying  to  effect  an 
entrance.  Accordingly,  they  dismounted, 
and  leading  their  horses  a  little  distance 
into  a  sheltering  wood,  they  waited  impa- 
tiently until  night  fell.  Even  then  they 
agreed,  though  reluctantly,  that  it  would 
be  the  wiser  plan  to  wait  another  two 
hours  at  least,  when  there  would  prob- 
ably be  fewer  people  stirring  about  the 
chateau. 

At  last,  and  it  seemed  an  eternity  to 
Paul,  as  he  waited  in  the  gloomy  wood 

310 


HIGH    NOON 

with  his  heart  heavy  with  anxiety  for  his 
dear  love — at  last  he  heard  the  signal 
given  which  told  him  the  time  had  come. 
And  soon  they  were  in  the  road  again. 

It  was  intensely  dark  beneath  the  trees, 
and  Paul  could  feel  light  boughs  and 
sometimes  heavy  branches  scrape  along 
his  shoulders. 

Suddenly  they  stopped,  and  Paul  saw 
that  they  were  in  a  little  clearing.  Then 
the  flame  of  a  match  outlined  the  shape 
of  a  gate. 

"Here  we  are,"  cried  Peter,  in  a  low 
voice. 

They  dismounted  and,  gathering 
around  Peter,  discussed  the  situation 
quickly.  It  was  agreed  at  length  that 
Verdayne,  with  AndriefT  and  Alexis, 
should  pass  the  gate  and  proceed  to  the 
chateau  to  reconnoitre,  while  Peter  re- 


3ii 


HIGH    NOOK 

mained  with  the  others  at  the  gate  until 
they  should  return. 

Paul  started  forward  therefore  with 
die  overseer  and  Peter's  cousin.  He 
pulled  back  the  iron  catch  and  to  his  sur- 
prise found  that  the  gate  was  unlocked. 

"Come!"  he  said,  as  he  pulled  it  open, 
and  the  three  went  in  together. 


312 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

BUT  as  Paul  strode  in  his  eager  foot 
found  no  foothold,  and  he  pitched 
forward,  to  find  himself  plunged 
up  to  the  neck  in  icy  water. 

So  great  was  the  shock  that  a  little  in- 
voluntary exclamation  escaped  him  as  he 
spluttered  and  blew  the  water  from  his 
mouth.  A  couple  of  strokes  brought  him 
back  to  the  gate  again,  and  as  he  clutched 
it  he  looked  up  at  the  silent  house. 

Even  as  he  did  so  he  caught  a  little  spit 
of  flame  from  one  of  the  windows  and  a 
bullet  splashed  into  the  water  beside  his 
head.  There  was  another  spit  of  flame, 
and  he  felt  his  knuckles  tingle  as  though 
they  had  been  rapped  with  a  red-hot  iron. 

Then  Andrieff  gripped  him  by  the  col- 


3»3 


HIGH    NOON 

lar,  and  with  his  aid  he  scrambled  back 
onto  the  path. 

Alexis,  who  had  been  quick  to  see  the 
necessity  of  instant  action,  was  by  this 
time  firing  back  at  the  place  from  which 
the  little  spits  of  flame  had  come  far  above 
them.  In  the  darkness  he  answered  shot 
for  shot. 

After  the  sound  of  the  shots  came  a 
complete  silence,  and  Paul,  as  he  stood 
stock-still  beside  the  gate,  which  was  now 
swinging  idly  over  the  moat,  could  hear 
the  patter  of  the  water  on  the  path  as  it 
dripped  from  his  clothes. 

Andrieff,  as  soon  as  he  had  seen  that 
Paul  was  safe,  had  run  along  the  hedge, 
and  now  he  gave  a  shout. 

"This  is  the  gate  we  want,"  he  cried. 

But  a  third  spit  of  flame  came  from  the 
darkness  overhead,  and  Paul  heard  the 
overseer  swearing  softly  under  his  breath. 

3*4 


HIGH    NOON 

Whoever  their  unknown  assailant  might 
be,  he  was  no  mean  marksman. 

Paul  and  Alexis  ran  to  AndriefFs  aid. 

"What's  up?"  asked  Paul. 

"Nothing,"  answered  Andrieff,  and  he 
got  the  gate  opened.  The  three  men 
dashed  up  the  path  and  reached  a  small 
door;  but  it  was  made  of  stout  oak,  and 
securely  fastened  within. 

They  thrust  their  shoulders  against  it 
without  avail,  and  then  stood  looking  at 
one  another,  panting,  and  for  the  moment 
baffled. 

It  was  then  that  Paul's  quick  ear 
caught  a  woman's  voice.  He  whipped 
round  and  looked  across  the  sheet  of 
water.  His  eyes  were  now  well  accus- 
tomed to  the  gloom,  and  he  saw  the  form 
of  a  woman  leaning  far  out  of  a  window 
and  gesticulating  wildly. 

He  held  up  his  hand  to  the  others  for 


315 


HIGH    NOON 

silence,  and  then  once  more  came  a  voice 
which  he  instantly  recognized.  It  was 
the  voice  of  the  red-haired  woman. 

"Be  quick!  Be  quick!"  she  cried.  "If 
you  don't  wish  to  be  too  late,  you  must 
swim  the  moat — the  door  is  barred." 

Paul  cast  a  quick  glance  behind  him, 
and  his  eyes  fell  on  the  gate. 

"Use  that  as  a  battering  ram,"  he  or- 
dered, and  then  his  jaws  closed  over  the 
butt  of  his  revolver. 

Without  hesitation  he  waded  in,  and  a 
few  strong  strokes  brought  him  beneath 
the  window  out  of  which  Madame  Es- 
telle  leant  and  waved. 

He  knew  instinctively  by  her  accents 
that  she  was  terrified  beyond  measure 
and  that  he  need  not  expect  treachery 
from  her. 

With  one  hand  he  clutched  the  sill, 
with  the  other  he  reached  up  and  shifting 

316 


HIGH    NOON 

the  safety-catch  on  with  his  thumb,  let  his 
revolver  fall  into  the  room. 

Soaked  as  he  was  with  water,  it  was  not 
an  easy  task  to  hoist  himself  up  and  clam- 
ber through  the  window,  and  when  at  last 
he  stood  within  the  room  he  leant  against 
the  wall  partially  exhausted  and  breath- 
ing hard. 

Madame  Estelle  stood  before  him 
wringing  her  hands. 

"Be  quick!"  she  said  again.  "Be  quick! 
be  quick!  or  you  will  be  too  late.  That 
fiend  Boris  is  at  his  work." 

By  the  light  of  the  candles  which  flick- 
ered on  the  mantelpiece  Paul  made  his 
way  to  the  door. 

Seizing  the  handle,  he  turned  it,  but 
the  lock  held  fast.  He  examined  it  swift- 
ly, and  to  his  joy  saw  that  it  opened  out- 
wards. He  drew  back  a  yard,  and  then 
sent  the  whole  of  his  weight  crashing 

317 


HIGH    NOON 

against  the  panels.  And  with  good  for- 
tune the  door  of  the  room,  although 
stoutly  built,  was  partially  rotten.  It 
burst  wide  open  and  sent  him  sprawling 
onto  his  face  in  the  passage. 

As  he  lay  there  half-stunned  his  pulses 
throbbed  again  as  the  noise  which  came 
from  the  main  entrance  told  him  that 
Alexis  and  AndriefT  were  making  good 
use  of  the  gate. 

He  dragged  himself  up  to  his  knees, 
still  clutching  his  revolver,  and  at  the 
same  moment  the  outer  door  gave  up  its 
resistance,  and  Alexis  and  AndriefT  came 
headlong  into  the  hall-way. 

He  heard  them  give  a  warning  shout  as 
he  struggled  to  his  feet,  steadying  himself 
by  the  pillars  of  the  banisters. 

Looking  up  the  stairs,  he  saw  the  bru- 
tal face  of  the  villain  Michael  on  the 


318 


HIGH    NOON 

landing,  his  strong,  yellow  teeth  bared  in 
a  vicious  snarl. 

Paul  heard  the  sound  of  a  shot,  and  at 
the  same  time  felt  the  hands  of  Madame 
Estelle  give  him  a  push. 

Her  intention  was  unselfish,  almost 
heroic;  she  saved  Paul's  life,  but  lost  her 
own. 

With  a  little  gasping  sigh  she  pitched 
forward  and  lay  still,  huddled  on  the 
stairs.  Then  Paul  heard  a  second  shot 
rap  out  from  behind  his  back,  and  saw 
Michael  stagger  on  the  landing.  The 
man  reeled  for  a  couple  of  paces  and  then 
fell  heavily. 

Verdayne  had  by  this  time  fully  got 
back  his  senses  and  his  breath;  and  now 
he  heard  coming  from  somewhere  high 
above  him  scream  after  scream  of  dread- 
ful terror. 

He  plunged  up  the  staircase,  and  step- 
s' 


HIGH    NOON 

ping  across  the  body  of  Michael  as  it  lay 
on  the  landing,  raced  up  the  second  flight 
of  stairs.  For  a  moment  he  paused  in  the 
hall,  in  order  to  make  doubly  sure  whence 
the  terrified  scream  came. 

Then  he  heard  it  again,  louder  and 
shriller  than  before.  There  was  a  dread- 
ful note  of  fear  in  it.  It  was  the  scream 
of  a  woman. 

As  he  stood  there  trying  to  locate  the 
direction  of  the  cry,  a  servant  bearing  a 
lantern  in  his  hand  ran  toward  him.  The 
man  was  unarmed,  apparently. 

"What  is  that?"  Paul  demanded  of 
him.  But  the  man  merely  shrugged  his 
shoulders. 

Then  there  came  the  scream  again, 
louder  and  more  terror-stricken  than  be- 
fore.   Paul  did  not  hesitate. 

Before  the  servant  had  time  to  utter 
any  protest  he  had  snatched  the  lantern 

320 


HIGH    NOON 

from  his  hand  and  was  racing  up  the 
third  flight  to  the  topmost  landing. 

Again  came  the  scream,  and  Paul  sud- 
denly found  his  way  barred  by  a  door 
across  the  corridor. 

Now  there  was  no  longer  any  doubt  as 
to  where  the  cries  came  from.  Paul 
dashed  at  the  door;  only  to  find  it  locked. 
In  a  second  he  had  his  shoulder  against 
the  panel,  and  the  door  went  in  with  a 
crash,  disclosing  a  small  anteroom, 
formed  by  the  end  of  the  hall-way.  And 
then  Paul  saw  before  him  another  door, 
before  which  stood  the  fat  Frenchman, 
Virot,  with  a  shining  knife  in  his  hand. 
Paul  covered  him  with  his  revolver. 

"Drop  that  knife,"  he  ordered. 

"Not  me!"  said  the  portly  rogue. 

"Drop  it!"  said  Paul  again,  with  an 
unmistakable  threat  in  his  voice. 

And  this  time  the  man  dropped  it, 


321 


HIGH    NOON 

''Now,"  Paul  cried,  "away  with  you, 
before  I  send  you  to  hell  before  your 
time." 

Virot  smiled  in  appreciation  of  the 
compliment,  and  at  once  started  down  the 
hall  as  fast  as  his  short  legs  could  carry 
him.  The  rascal  was  always  careful  of 
his  precious  skin. 

Paul  turned  the  handle  of  the  door, 
only  to  find,  as  he  had  expected,  that  the 
key  on  the  inner  side  had  been  turned 
and  he  groaned  within  himself.  He  was 
living  in  some  awful  nightmare  at  which 
a  door  faced  him  at  every  turn. 

He  emptied  his  revolver  in  the  lock 
and  hurled  himself  in  frenzy  against  this 
further  obstruction.  It  gave  way,  and  he 
tottered  into  the  room,  the  lights  of  which 
for  a  moment  dazzled  him. 

His  half-blinded  eyes  were  greeted  by 
the  sight  which  he  had  dreaded  ever  since 


322 


HIGH    NOON 

he  had  come  to  the  farm  on  the  hill. 

Natalie  was  fighting  desperately,  and 
for  life,  with  Boris. 

With  a  great  cry  Paul  leapt  forward, 
but  he  was  too  late  to  exercise  that  ven- 
geance which  had  now  full  possession  of 
his  soul. 

Boris  flung  Natalie  to  one  side,  and  for 
a  second  turned  his  pallid  face,  in  which 
his  eyes  were  burning  like  a  madman's, 
full  on  Paul  as  he  dashed  on  him. 

Then  without  a  sound  he  leapt  aside, 
and  vaulting  on  to  the  sill  of  the  open 
window,  jumped  out. 

Instinctively  Paul  knew  what  was  com- 
ing, and  catching  Natalie  to  him,  held 
her  head  against  his  breast,  stopping  her 
ears  with  his  hands.  Then  as  he  stood 
there  with  his  eyes  bent  on  her  hair,  he 
heard  the  sickening  sound  of  Boris's  body 
thud  on  to  the  stones  below. 


323 


HIGH    NOON 

Releasing  Natalie's  ears,  he  put  his 
hand  under  her  chin  and  lifted  up  her 
face.  He  marvelled  that  she  had  not 
fainted,  but  the  dreadful  horror  in  her 
eyes  struck  into  his  heart  like  a  blow. 

He  had  to  hold  her  to  prevent  her  fall- 
ing to  the  floor,  and  so  he  stood  for  some 
few  seconds  with  her  form  limp  and  shiv- 
ering in  his  arms. 

Bracing  himself  for  one  last  effort, 
Paul  lifted  her  up  and  bore  her  out  of  the 
room.  Half-dazed,  he  stumbled  down  the 
stairs  with  her  until  he  reached  the  hall. 

In  the  doorway  he  saw  Peter,  who 
came  running  forward  with  outstretched 
arms. 

"Just  a  minute,"  said  Paul  quickly,  and 
he  walked  into  the  room,  the  door  of 
which  he  had  shattered. 

In  the  meantime  Andrieff  and  the  lad 
had  picked  up  Madame  Estelle  and  car- 

324 


HIGH    NOON 

ricd  her  into  the  same  room,  and  now  she 
lay  on  the  couch,  her  face  growing  grey 
with  the  shadows  of  death,  and  her 
breath  coming  fast  and  feebly.  Her  eyes 
stared  up  at  the  ceiling  with  an  intense 
and  horrible  fixity. 

Paul  pushed  an  armchair  round  with 
his  foot  and  set  his  lady  down  on  it  so  that 
her  back  was  turned  to  the  dying  woman. 

Peter  fell  on  his  knees  beside  the  chair, 
and  seizing  his  sister's  hands,  held  them 
against  his  breast. 

Paul  crossed  over  to  Madame  Estelle 
and  stood  over  her.  He  put  his  hand 
against  her  heart  and  listened  to  her 
breathing. 

"I  am  afraid,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice 
to  Andrieff,  "that  we  can  do  nothing  for 
her.  It  is  a  bad  business.  Heaven  for- 
give her  for  anything  she  has  done  amiss  I 
She  did  her  best  to  make  amends." 


325 


HIGH    NOON 

Then  he  drew  Alexis  out  of  the  room 
and  told  him  to  fetch  a  lamp. 

When  he  had  fetched  the  lamp  Paul 
took  it  and  began  rapidly  to  examine 
round  the  ground  floor  of  the  rambling 
building.  He  was  seeking  for  the  court- 
yard into  which  Boris  had  fallen. 

At  last  they  found  it,  and  found,  too, 
all  that  remained  of  Boris  Ivanovitch. 
He  was  battered  and  crushed  and  bruised 
almost  beyond  recognition. 

Paul  set  his  face  and  straightened  trie 
twisted  and  distorted  body  out. 

Then  he  straightened  himself,  and 
picking  up  the  lamp  led  the  way  back 
into  the  house. 

By  this  time  Natalie,  though  very  pale 
and  still  shaken,  was  quite  composed.  In- 
deed, she  was  now  more  self-possessed 
than  her  brother.  She  was  doing  her  ut- 
most to  quiet  his  still  painful  agitation. 

326 


HIGH    NOON 

Paul  looked  into  her  face,  and  seeing 
how  strong  and  resolute  it  was,  felt  no 
hesitation  in  speaking  before  her. 

"Sir,"  he  said  very  quietly  to  Peter, 
"Boris  is  dead." 

Peter  glanced  at  him  quickly  and  then 
turned  to  his  sister. 

"Thank  heaven!"  he  cried. 

"Hush,"  said  Natalie,  gently,  and  tak- 
ing her  brother  by  the  arm  she  pointed 
to  Madame  Estelle. 

Andrieff  had  done  what  he  could,  and 
the  unhappy  woman  had,  to  some  extent, 
come  back  to  consciousness. 

She  was  indeed  sufficiently  alive  to 
catch  Paul's  words.  She  brought  her 
fast  fading  eyes  down  from  the  ceiling 
and  searched  his  face. 

"Boris!"  she  muttered  to  herself: 
"Boris!" 

Paul  drew  near  and  knelt  down  by  the 

327 


HIGH    NOON 

couch.  He  took  one  of  her  hands,  which 
was  even  then  growing  cold. 

"Boris ?"  she  asked  again  in  a  voice 
scarcely  above  a  whisper. 

Paul  put  his  mouth  down  to  her  ear 
and  said  slowly,  "He  is  dead." 

The  shock  of  the  news  acted  on  the 
woman  in  a  most  extraordinary  way. 
With  a  convulsive  movement  she  sudden- 
ly gathered  herself  together  and  sat  bolt 
upright  on  the  couch.  She  would  have 
fallen  back  again  had  not  Paul  caught 
her  in  his  arms. 

The  woman  opened  her  mouth  and 
made  two  or  three  efforts  before  she 
spoke  again,  and  then  she  only  breathed 
the  word  "Boris  I" 

Paul's  gaze  wandered  over  the  side- 
board. 

"See  if  you  can  find  any  brandy,"  he 

328 


HIGH    NOON 

said  to  AndriefT,  who  instantly  produced 
a  decanter. 

Paul  took  the  glass  from  his  hand  and 
pressed  it  to  Madame  Estelle's  lips.  She 
revived  a  little,  and  suddenly  spoke  clear- 
ly and  in  almost  her  normal  voice. 

"Sir  Paul,"  she  said,  "forgive!"  Then 
her  eyes  became  fixed  and  staring,  and  it 
was  Paul  who  drew  the  dead  woman's 
eyelids  down. 

"Sir  Paul,"  said  Peter,  earnestly,  "it  is 
simply  impossible  that  I  shall  ever  be 
able  to  repay  you  the  great  service  you 
have  rendered  me.  But,  believe  me,  if 
there  is  anything  in  the  world  it  is  within 
my  power  to  give  you,  you  have  but  to 
ask  to  receive  it." 

Paul  looked  across  at  Natalie,  but  said 
nothing.  The  time  had  not  yet  come 
when  he  could  ask  Peter  for  that  which 
would  a  thousand  times  repay  him. 

329 


CHAPTER  XXVII 


PAUL  never  quite  knew  how  he  re- 
traced the  distance  to  the  Vsesla- 
vitch  mansion.  The  combined  ef- 
fects of  the  blow  he  had  received  at  the 
hands  of  the  treacherous  servant,  the  fall 
at  the  gate,  and  the  long  hours  of  mental 
anguish  he  had  undergone,  were  quite 
enough  to  befog  his  brain.  He  rode 
back  reeling  in  his  saddle,  and  once  in 
his  bed  he  stayed  there  for  two  days  be- 
fore he  was  himself  again. 

When  he  joined  the  others  at  last  he 
found  that  the  household  had  recovered 
its  equanimity.  They  had  feared  at  first 
some  serious  consequences  as  a  result  of 
the  fight  at  the  chateau,  with  three 
people     lying     dead     there.      But     the 


3V 


HIGH    NOON 

Frenchman  had  apparently  decided  that 
his  own  precious  skin  would  be  safer 
if  the  matter  were  hushed  up  with  as  lit- 
tle ado  as  possible.  He  did  not  know,  it 
appeared,  that  Baxter  had  not  been  killed 
by  the  shot  from  Boris's  revolver,  and 
he  had  no  wish  to  admit  any  connection 
with  that  affair.  Accordingly,  as  Peter 
learned  later,  Virot  had  reported  to  the 
authorities  that  Boris  had  shot  Madame 
Estelle  and  Michael  during  a  fit  of  jeal- 
ousy, and  then,  seized  with  remorse,  had 
taken  his  own  life. 

The  whole  bearing  of  Mademoiselle 
Vseslavitch  and  her  brother  had  changed 
— Paul  noticed  that  immediately.  Now 
that  with  Boris's  death  the  cause  of  their 
former  disquiet  had  been  removed  for- 
ever they  were  two  entirely  different  per- 
sons. It  made  Paul's  heart  glad  to  hear 
the  buoyant  note  in  Natalie's  voice  as  she 


332 


HIGH    NOON 

talked  with  them  gaily.  And  his  own 
spirits  rose  as  well,  for  now,  he  thought, 
the  obstacle  to  his  suit  had  been  brushed 
aside. 

That  day  passed  quickly,  for  there  was 
much  to  talk  about.  Alexis  Vseslavitch 
was  still  there,  for  he  had  refused  to 
leave  while  Paul  seemed  in  any  danger. 
And  the  four  discussed  at  length  the 
events  of  those  two  memorable  nights. 

That  night  Paul  went  once  more  with 
Natalie  to  the  garden.  As  the  soft  night 
received  them  in  its  warm  embrace,  it 
seemed  to  Paul  that  in  that  spot  lay  all 
the  glory  of  the  earth,  and  a  whole 
Heaven  besides.  For  very  joy,  he  could 
have  died  while  looking  into  her  eyes. 
How  madly  he  loved  her!  How  beauti- 
ful she  was!  As  he  gazed  at  her  pale 
face,  shining  forth  from  her  dark  tresses, 
it  seemed  to   Paul  like  the  very  moon 


333 


HIGH    NOON 

above,  gleaming  from  the  dusky  clouds. 
He  took  her  cool  hand  and  pressed  It  to 
his  eyes,  till  the  ringing  in  his  heart  was 
still.  All  nature  seemed  enchanted.  For 
a  time,  Paul  could  not  speak.  He  only 
knew  that  God  had  created  men  to  ad- 
mire the  glories  of  the  world,  and  that 
here  was  a  wonderful  night — and  a  no 
less  wonderful  woman. 

Once  more  they  sat  down  upon  the 
bench  where  they  had  talked  two  short 
days  before — but  what  a  difference  1 
Then  his  heart  was  sorely  troubled — now 
all  was  peace. 

Like  a  sea  of  life,  Spring  covered  the 
world.  The  snowy  blossom-foam  flut- 
tered on  the  trees;  all  was  bathed  in  a 
wondrous  hazy  glow.  Everywhere  mira- 
cles were  working.  And  then  Paul  awoke 
from  his  dream  and  spoke. 

"Natalie!"    he    said,    "I  cannot  part 

334 


HIGH    NOON 

from  you.  I  have  told  you  that  I  love 
you."  And  then  with  moist  eyes  and 
flaming  lips  he  cried:  "Be  mine — and 
love  me!" 

Oh!  then  fell  the  evening  gold  upon 
Paul's  soul!  Like  a  fairy  bell  came  the 
sound  of  her  voice  upon  his  ears: 

"My  Knight  of  Love/'  she  said,  "what 
wouldst  thou  have  more?" 

And  at  those  words,  Paul  folded  her 
within  his  arms. 

Later  as  they  sat  there  in  the  moon- 
light, she  told  Paul  more  of  the  unworthy 
marriage  which  had  been  so  nearly  forced 
upon  her;  how  Boris  being  heir-apparent 
of  a  Balkan  state — Sovna — had  been  able 
to  enlist  the  help  of  the  Tsar  in  coercing 
her.  Many  of  the  Sovnian  subjects  were 
Slavs  who  had  emigrated  from  her 
own  province  and  the  Tsar  felt  that  such 


335 


HIGH    NOON 

a  union  would  do  much  toward  cement- 
ing the  friendship  between  the  two  coun- 
tries. As  for  Boris,  political  reasons  had 
little  to  do  with  the  suit.  Her  fortune  was 
all  he  cared  for.  And  at  the  thought  of 
his  perfidy,  so  nearly  triumphant,  she 
trembled  anew  with  horror. 

And  then  as  Paul  comforted  her,  he 
told  her  with  amusement  how  he  had  in- 
terpreted the  note  that  she  had  written 
him  in  Paris — that  he  had  thought  her  a 
secret  agent  of  the  Dalmatian  govern- 
ment. 

The  lady  laughed  at  that. 

"And  when,  pray,  were  you  disillu- 
sioned?" she  asked  him.  "Two  days  ago 
you  called  me  'Princess' — in  the  garden 
here.    How  did  you  know  that?" 

Paul  looked  at  her  in  amazement. 

"Princess!"  he  repeated.  And  then  he 
remembered  that  he  had  used  the  word — • 

336 


HIGH    NOON 

as  an  endearing  name,  that  seemed  so  well 
to  fit  his  love. 

"What  do  you  mean,  my  Natalie?"  he 
cried.    "Are  you  really  of  royal  blood?" 

"Yes,  Paul,"  she  answered.  "You  did 
not  know  it  then?  I  wanted  to  appear  to 
you  as  a  commoner — just  a  normal,  every 
day  woman.  And  see!  you  loved  me 
when  you  thought  I  was  a  mere  servant  1 
That  is  the  wonderful  part  of  it  all  tn 
me." 

Yet  Paul's  heart  sank  as  the  possible 
meaning  of  the  news  started  forth  to  his 
consciousness.  Was  not  her  rank  an  im- 
passable barrier  between  them?  he  asked 
himself.  Must  he  again  return  to  Eng- 
land to  drag  out  the  rest  of  life  alone, 
with  his  love  the  width  of  a  continent 
away? 

He  asked  these  things  with  a  rush  of 
words  that  fell  from  his  trembling  lips. 

337 


HIGH    NOON 

"Ah,  Paul!"  the  lady  said,  caressingly, 
"fear  not.  I  am  tired  of  being  only  a 
princess!  The  world  sees  but  the  glit- 
tering show  of  royalty,  and  does  not  know 
it  for  the  sham  it  really  is.  The  trappings, 
the  gorgeous  robes  that  kings  and  queens 
assume  when  they  are  crowned  hide 
bleeding  hearts  and  sorrowful  breasts.  I 
have  seen  too  much  of  the  cares  of  state 
— the  awful  tragedy — the  bitter  grief. 
Long  since  I  decided  that  I  would  have 
no  more  of  it.  Better  a  dinner  of  herbs, 
where  love  is,  you  know.  And  so  Peter 
and  I  came  here  to  this  quiet  spot — the 
old  home  of  my  mother — and  took  her 
name.  And  here  we  thought  to  live  like 
simple  gentle-folk,  till  Boris  broke  rude- 
ly into  our  Arcadia. 

"And  now,  Paul,"  she  continued,  look- 
ing up  at  him  with  the  love-light  shining 
in  her  eyes,  "the  time  has  come  when  you 


338 


HIGH    NOON 

may  know  all.  Forgive  me,  dear,  for  the 
long  waiting.  But  I  had  to  be  sure  as 
you  will  see." 

She  drew  from  her  bosom  a  folded  pa- 
per and  placed  it  in  his  hand. 

Paul  opened  it,  and  saw  it  was  a  letter. 
He  held  it  closer,  and  then,  in  the  white 
moonlight  pouring  from  that  Southern 
sky — great  God! — he  saw  the  writing  of 
his  Lady  of  Long  Ago! 

And  this  is  what  Paul  read : 

"My  Sweet  Sister: 

"I  know  that  I  must  leave  this  beauti- 
ful earth.  Already  I  feel  beside  me,  wak- 
ing as  well  as  sleeping,  a  mysterious  pres- 
ence, who  lays  his  cold  hand  upon  my 
naked  breast,  and  claims  me  for  his  own. 
It  is  Death,  my  Natalie,  that  stalks  beside 
me,  and  that  day  is  not  far  distant  when 
his  icy  fingers  will  close  relentlessly  upon 
my  quivering  heart — and  it  will  beat  no 
more. 

339 


HIGH    NOON 

"Ah !  my  little  one,  God  keep  thee  safe 
from  such  griefs  as  I  have  borne.  But 
God  grant  thee  the  happiness  I  have  also 
known. 

"And  now,  child,  I  must  talk  to  thee  as 
to  the  woman  thou  wilt  be  when  thy 
dear  eyes  read  these  words — a  score  of 
years  from  now!  Thou  wilt  be  a  beauti- 
ful woman  then — and  I — a  little  dust  will 
still  remain,  perhaps. 

"But,  listen.  My  son,  the  baby  Prince 
— thou  wilt  watch  over  him  with  tender 
care,  I  know.  And  then — for  thee  the 
time  will  pass  quickly,  while  I  lie  slowly 
crumbling — before  thou  knowest  it,  al- 
most, he  will  be  a  man — and  crowned. 

"Then,  Natalie,  thou  wilt  read  this  mes- 
sage from  the  living  dead,  for  from  that 
time  on  Paul  Verdayne  will  need  thee. 
He  is  my  true  lover,  sweetheart,  and 
when  his  son  is  set  apart  from  his  life  for- 
ever by  the  necessities  of  state — then  will 
he  know  his  hour  of  greatest  need.  Search 

34<> 


HIGH    NOON 

him  out,  Natalie,  my  sister — Paul  Ver- 
dayne,  the  Englishman. 

"Go  to  Lucerne,  in  May  (and  here  fol- 
lowed the  name  of  the  Swiss  hotel  Paul 
knew  so  well)  and  there  thou  wilt  find 
him,  without  fail. 

"Comfort  him,  I  charge  thee.  It  must 
ever  be  for  thee  a  sacred  duty.  And, 
child!  I  would  not  have  my  lover  left 
alone,  to  go*  through  life  with  the  shadow 
of  his  great  grief  hanging  ever  over  him. 
There  will  still  be  sunlight  in  the  world 
— and  love.  And  Paul  will  be  in  his 
prime. 

"Then  will  it  be  the  high  noon  of  his 
life.  But  what  of  love,  for  him?  Ah!  I 
scarce  dare  dream  that  dream.  But  be- 
lieve this,  sweet  Natalie,  Death  would 
lose  half  its  dread  could  I  but  know  that 
Paul  and  thou  couldst  love." 

Paul  sat  like  one  who  saw  a  vision. 
Unknowingly  he  plucked  the  young  buds 


34i 


HIGH    NOON 

from  the  rose-tree  by  the  bench — and 
crushed  them.  Far  away  mourned  a  de- 
lirious nightingale;  and  a  weeping  wil- 
low softly  shivered.  The  moon  looked 
down  from  the  midst  of  heaven;  the  infi- 
nite celestial  vault  increased  until  it  be- 
came yet  more  infinite;  it  burned  and 
breathed;  all  the  earth  gleamed  with  sil- 
very lustre;  the  air  was  wonderful,  at 
once  fresh  and  overpowering,  full  of 
sweetness;  it  was  an  ocean  of  perfumes. 

Divine  night!  Magical  night!  The 
forests,  full  of  shade,  were  motionless, 
and  cast  their  vast  shadows.  The  pools 
were  calm;  the  cold  and  darkness  of  the 
waters  lay  mournfully  enclosed  in  the 
dark  walls  of  the  garden.  The  virgin 
thickets  of  young  cherry  trees  timidly 
stretched  their  roots  into  the  chill  earth, 
and  from  time  to  time  shook  their  leaves, 
as  if  they  were  angry  and  indignant  that 


342 


HIGH    NOON 

the  beautiful  Zephyr,  the  wind  of  night, 
glided  suddenly  toward  them  and  covered 
them  with  kisses. 

All  the  landscape  slept.  On  high  all 
breathed — all  was  beautiful — solemn, 
The  vastness  and  wondrousness  possessed 
Paul's  soul ;  and  crowds  of  silvery  visions 
emerged  softly  from  their  hiding  places. 
Divine  night!    Magical  night! 

Suddenly  all  came  to  life;  the  forests, 
the  pools,  the  steppes.  The  majestic  voice 
of  the  nightingale  burst  forth  again,  now 
in  a  paeon  of  praise.  It  seemed  as  if  the 
moon,  to  listen  to  it,  stood  still  in  the 
midst  of  heaven.  Then  the  song  ceased. 
All  was  silent. 

Paul  and  his  lady  rose  then,  and  hand 
in  hand,  walking  softly  as  if  in  the  pres- 
ence of  one  that  was  not  dead,  but  sleep- 
ing, they  sought  the  house  together.  And 
as  they  reached  the  doorway,  Paul  saw 


343 


HIGH    NOON 

there  for  the  first  time,  inscribed  on  the 
lintel  in  letters  of  gold,  now  strangely  sil- 
vered in  that  marvellous  light: 

"On  thy  house  will  the  blessing  of  the 
Lord  rest  for  evermore/' 


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whatever  may  be  said  of  the  views  and  opinions  of  the  anonymous 
author  (a  famous  Englishwoman  well  known  in  America),  the  "Diary" 
is  a  work  of  throbbing  and  intense  humanity,  the  moral  of  which 
is  sound  throughout  and   plain  to  see. 

SIMPLY  WOMEN,  by  Marcel  Prevo.t 

12mo.,   cloth;  198  pages;  price  50c,   postage  10c 

"Like  a  motor-car  or  an  old-fashioned  razor,  this  book  should  be 
in    the    hands    of    mature    persons    only." — St.    Louis    Post-Dispatch. 

"Marcel  Prevost,  of  whom  a  critic  remarked  that  his  forte  was 
the  analysis  of  the  souls  and  bodies  of  a  type  half  virgin  and  half 
courtesan,  is  now  available  in  a  volume  of  selections  admirably  trans- 
lated by  R.   I.   Brandon- Vauvillez." — San  Francisco   Chronicle. 

THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NICE  YOUNG  MAN,  by  Aix 

Joseph  and  Potiphar's  Wife  Up-to-Date 

12mc,  cloth;  407  pages;  price  50c,  postage  10c 

A  handsome  young  man,  employed  as  a  lady's  private  secretary, 
is  bound   to  meet  with  interesting  adventures. 

"Under  a  thin  veil  the  story  unquestionably  sets  forth  actual 
episodes  and   conditions   in   metropolitan   circles." — Washington   Star. 


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